


something enchanting, something deadly

by goldtreesilvertree, mothwrites



Series: something enchanting, something deadly (wolf 359 fantasy au) [1]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Dragons, Magic-Users, Multi, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, dragon!hera, it's season three but it's Gay and there's dragons, medieval pop culture references, prince!eiffel, princess!minkowski, sorcerer!jacobi, the once and future queen lovelace, we wrote 57k of this in two weeks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtreesilvertree/pseuds/goldtreesilvertree, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: In the palace; a coup succeeds, a princess is imprisoned, and a prince is forced to make a terrible choice. In the caves of the mountain, a dragon stirs. On the island, a queen awakens.It’s going to be an interesting year in the Kingdom of Hephaestus.





	1. prologue: they've got the kingdom locked up

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to fantasy au! This is the product of two weeks of staying up until 2am in the morning, co-writing on a Google Doc that is now extremely hard to load. 57,000 words and 122 pages later, we are ready to share this fic with the world! There will be 19 chapters, and updates will be on Tuesdays and Fridays. You can find Ada (mothwrites) on tumblr at captainlovelxce, and Lottie (goldtreesilvertree) at lottiesnotebook. This fic has been our life and soul for the last fortnight, so if you have any questions, comments, etc - please feel free to leave a comment here or get in touch with us on tumblr! Thanks to everyone who's listened to us talk about this recently - we hope it lives up to the hype.
> 
> The prologue's title is from the song "Castle" by Halsey.

 

 

In the palace, a coup succeeds, a princess is imprisoned, and a prince is forced to make a terrible choice. In the caves of the mountain, a dragon stirs. On the island, a queen awakens.

It’s going to be an interesting year in the Kingdom of Hephaestus.

*

“It’s done?”

Jacobi nodded, “Yes sir. He died on impact. To anyone else, it’ll look like the new wing of the palace collapsed on its own. Hilbert is briefing the palace staff as we speak, they won’t suspect a thing.”

“So they won’t detect our involvement?”

He shrugged. “Not unless they have an undermining expert look at it, and I doubt they’ll think to do that with the palace in uproar.”

The colonel looked… not happy, but satisfied. “And the princess?”

“Under guard before she even knew her father was dead. She’s not getting out of there without agreeing to our terms.”

“Command will be pleased.” Jacobi watched as Kepler drew out a bottle and poured out a measure into two small glasses. He took his and smelt it. Whiskey, imported from the Old Empire, Kepler’s favourite. He’d smelt it before after a successful mission, but the colonel had never offered to share it before. He looked up from the glass, locking his eyes with Kepler’s unreadable ones.

Kepler smiled, “Drink up. I’m not going to lose one of my team just to clean up loose ends.”

Jacobi drank it in a single gulp. It burned like fire, the aftertaste curling in his throat like smoke. “It’s… good.”

His master’s smile became a smirk, “You don’t have a taste for power, do you, Daniel?”

“No sir. A taste for a job done well, maybe.”

“Well, we share that, at least.” Kepler paused, “By the way, have you dealt with Prince Eiffel at all?”

“No, sir. He’s no threat to our plans. Maxwell is keeping him busy for now. He may make a good hostage for his cousin’s cooperation.”

Kepler raised a hand as though to brush the burn scar on the left side of his face, then lowered it to clap him on the shoulder. Daniel didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Let’s go and retrieve our lady from him. We need to regroup and present a show of strength to the city before we can properly celebrate.”

He strode out of the room, and Jacobi followed. He hoped it was only the whiskey making his head spin.

 *

“What do you _mean,_ she won’t see me?!”

The prince was shaking with anger and fear, and Alana wondered for the thousandth time why _she’d_ been left to deal with him. She was even less of a diplomat than the man in front of her, and had far less interest in dealing with humans.

She tried to keep her voice level and calm. “The princess is to be kept in seclusion until the palace is secured, perhaps even until her coronation. Her rooms in the Old Palace are the safest part of the building, and it makes sense to keep her there until we know the rest of the palace is habitable.”

“And I can’t go to her _why_?”

“Only those who have been judged as non-threats by Chancellor Hilbert have access to her highness until her coronation.”

“And I’m a _threat_ to her? For Rhea’s sake, I’m her _cousin!_ ”

“And her heir, should anything happen to her.” Alana heard Kepler before she saw him, and breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, she could slip away now the cavalry had arrived. She stood and bobbed a rapid curtsey.

“My lord, Prince Eiffel is concerned for the well-being of his cousin.”

“At ease, Dr Maxwell. Sir Jacobi and I can handle the prince’s concerns.” He turned a cold gaze towards Eiffel, and Alana shivered a little in sympathy. “ _Sit,_ Prince Eiffel.”

The prince collapsed into the chair behind him like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Kepler sat more slowly in the chair Alana had vacated, and she moved back until she flanked him on one side as Jacobi did on the other. They’d played this game before, and they did not even have to look at each other to confirm what their master’s next line would be.

“Now that we’re all sitting comfortably, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to _think_ for the first time in your life before you answer it.”

“You can’t-“ Kepler held up one finger, and the prince fell silent.

“Before you tell me what I can and can’t do, tell me this: how much do you value your cousin’s life?”

Alana watched as the prince turned white as a sheet, his nails digging into the arms of his chair. She exchanged a wordless glance with Daniel over Kepler’s head. They had him.

 *

The princess leaned out of the window to catch her breath. Her tower bedroom had the best view in the whole palace, the lights of the city below spread out beneath her like a hundred thousand stars. She had loved it up here once, so high that she could be floating suspended in the night sky itself.

It was a shame the tower was too high for anyone to hear her scream.

She’d been yelling for help at first. She’d seen the collapse of the new wing of the palace from the window, and run to the door. Her father, _Eiffel_ , the servants – anyone in the wing would have been killed. She had to help, she had to do something – but the door was jammed shut, and the key wouldn’t budge in the lock. She’d been relieved when she’d heard the running feet at first. Her guards would open the door, she could finally _do_ something – but they silently took up their positions on either side of the door. It was then she realised that the collapse couldn’t have been an accident, and her shouts had turned to screams.

Her voice was becoming hoarse, and the guards placed outside her rooms for her “protection” continued to ignore her.  She wondered for a moment whether it would be more honourable to jump from the tower than to listen to the terms of the “ambassadors” from the capital of the Goddard Empire, the people who had killed her father. She quickly dismissed the thought. She was no use to her kingdom dead, and three hundred and fifty-nine steps was a very long way to fall. No, she would have to be patient. She had to save her kingdom as well as herself, and she couldn’t do either from a prison cell.

If she could get hold of a pistol, or even a sword… but they’d never let either one near her. She had her knife, tucked at the small of her back as it had been ever since she turned twelve, but she could hardly fight her way out with that alone. Besides, if she did fight her way out, she’d be slaughtering her own people. Even if they had turned traitor to serve Kepler and his minions, they would not want to kill her, and she would have to kill them.

She hadn’t heard Eiffel’s name mentioned by the guards at all. Surely they would have mentioned if he’d been killed or captured? She hoped he’d escaped the palace somehow. He was no fighter, barely even a diplomat, but he was the perfect hostage for her good behaviour, and her captors likely knew it.

She would have to wait, then, and see who they had and what they knew. They could not keep her locked away from her kingdom forever. And when she finally got free of them, the Goddard Empire would regret the day they’d crossed Princess Renée Minkowski.

 *

From deep within the mountain, Hera could feel the collapse of the palace, see the old king’s life snuffed out like a candle flame. She had not appeared to or advised his new royal line as her sister had to the queens of old. She had not even seen the surface since the last Queen Lovelace had fallen three - or was it four? - hundred years ago.

She’d sworn then, watching her friends fall around her, watching Rhea weep, that the humans could manage without her aid. She would not live to watch generation after generation of loved ones fall in battle. But now she felt the pull of the outside world, drawing her up out of the caves like a plant pulled out of the earth by the sun. Something was changing in the air of the kingdom, something enchanting, something deadly. Magic was returning to the kingdom of Hephaestus.

She paused at the opening to the cave, spread her wings, and leapt into the sunset. She had a long way to fly.

 *

Waking up had never felt so close to dying. Isabel felt her lungs sputter to life first, and gasped for air as though breathing for the first time. For a moment, she did not know where she was. Then, as her muscles ceased spasming for long enough that she could sit up, she remembered. She remembered everything.

The field at Camlann. Selberg’s betrayal. Her knights, her _friends_ falling around her one by one – Fisher, Hui, Fourier, Lambert – until it was only her and Rhea, fleeing into the night. She’d been wounded, but Rhea had said – Rhea had _promised_ – that on the island they called the Shuttle, everything could be made right. The island that, it was said, could pass from the lands of Faerie to the human world. She’d thought Rhea had lied to her as a kindness to give a dying woman hope. She’d been wrong.

She swung her legs down from the slab on which she’d slept. She was going to get her kingdom back. She was going to kill Selberg.


	2. i: there will come a soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not afraid of a fight, princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song "Soldier, Poet, King" by The Oh Hello's.

The old king’s fate had been sealed long before the roof of his palace collapsed on him. He had been a dead man from the moment Kepler had stepped into Cutter’s study.

It was not a large or grand room, and its occupant was not a particularly memorable figure. Cutter was a nondescript man with a pleasant smile and a cheerful demeanour. He held no titles, ruled no lands, and his face was one among many in the emperor’s retinue. He blended perfectly into any crowd with the perfect invisibility of a ghost. And he was the most dangerous man Kepler had ever met.

He smiled but did not stand when Kepler entered, and accepted his bow with an inclination of the head.

“Warren, so glad you could join me for this little chat! You’re a very busy man now, I hear.”

As if Cutter didn’t hear everything that went on in the empire. “Yes, sir. The Emperor… keeps me busy.”

“Of course he does! There’s always need for a man of your… talents in the empire. But I’m sure you’ll have time to take on a little task for me.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, I suppose I can’t ask you to take on a task without knowing its rewards. But it’s exceptionally well-suited to the abilities of your team, and the rewards are… almost beyond measure for a man of vision.” He paused, seeming to expect a question from Kepler that never came. “Come now, Warren, don’t you want to know specifics?”

“Is there a particular value attached to ‘beyond measure’, sir? My team would be very keen to know.”

Cutter’s eyes almost glowed from the shadows behind his desk. “Getting mercenary in your middle age, colonel? I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”

“Knowing the risk to reward ratio is helpful when presenting a mission to my team.”

“Ah, I see Lady Alana has introduced you both to the concept of caution. She’s a clever girl, that one. Watch her. As for the rewards for this particular mission… you’ll gain my gratitude, of course, and that of the Emperor, but that’s not the most interesting part.” He leaned forward on his elbows over the desk, and lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard of the Kingdom of Hephaestus before? Beautiful place, on the eastern reaches of the empire. Spectacular mines, some very pretty castles… and in need of new management.”

Kepler folded his hands behind his back, trying to conceal any reaction of surprise. “And you think my team are suitable to create this new management?”

Cutter laughed. “If you like the place, Warren, you’ll _be_ the new management. The old king has some… unfortunate ideas about the kingdom’s relationship to the empire, and we would prefer a more amicable relationship with one of our client-kings. He has a daughter and a nephew, either of whom might be malleable enough for our purposes, but if they prove intractable, I’m sure the Emperor wouldn’t object to a new order within the kingdom. And in such unstable times, you and your companions could certainly rise to great heights.”

“I doubt power will be enough to convince Dr Maxwell that staging a coup with three people is a sensible plan.”

“We’re not stupid, Warren. The king’s chancellor is sympathetic to our desire for better relations between kingdom and empire, and he’ll be able to brief you on the circumstances within the palace itself. As for Maxwell… the last dragon was seen in the borders of the kingdom. I’m sure that alone will be enough to tempt her.”

“And Sir Jacobi?”

“He scarcely needs a reward. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth. If you don’t know how to use _that_ to your advantage, there’s no hope for you.”

*

Jacobi looked as though the ends of the earth would be preferable to his current mission.

“He’s not giving us _any_ back-up forces?”

“We’ll have back-up forces when we’ve liaised with the chancellor. He claims to have half the palace in his pay, and the other half will listen to him out of habit.”

Jacobi frowned, unconvinced. “So we’re going 350 miles just the _three_ of us, on the _claim_ of a man no-one’s met. Anything else I should know?”

“That it’s 359 miles, and that this man is far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“He can’t be more powerful than his own king!”

“He was the one who brought the kingdom into the empire in the first place, if the rumours are true. If he says it’s possible to take over the kingdom this way, we believe him.”

If Kepler believed him, then Jacobi believed him. That didn’t mean he had to like it. “And you’re bringing me to babysit the _nephew?_ ”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to get _Maxwell_ to do it after what happened last time. Besides, you’re good at creating tragically fatal accidents.”

He tried not to preen at the slight compliment. “That doesn’t mean I’m good with _people._ The opposite, really.”

“When the other option is Alana, you’re good enough. I’ll have my hands full with the princess if she decides to be disagreeable. Which, from what our contact says, she will. You have the soft target. You can handle him.”

“ _Just_ handle him?”

Kepler smiled, and he tried not to blink at the sudden brightness. “I trust your judgement. If you say he’s our best option, we use him. If not…” He didn’t need to finish that sentence. He never did.

*

For all that the prince was supposed to be the “soft target”, he looked anything but soft when he saw it was Jacobi he’d just invited into his quarters. He was lying upside down on the sofa, legs hooked over the back, dark hair tumbling around his face.

“What do you want, Lancelot? Here to tell me that if I’m a very good boy, you’ll let me come and sit at dinner with the grown-ups?”

The quip at the burn-scar was a new one, and not a familiar one. “I’m here to talk. Lancelot?”

The prince rolled his eyes, “Not a reader are you? He had a scar covering one half of his face too. So, Lance, you came to talk or just stare?”

Jacobi had long since stopped feeling sensitive about the scar on his face, but it didn’t hurt to try and score points. “Charming. And they told me you were so friendly.”

He snorted. “Yes, compared to my cousin. She’d be ripping the good half of your face off right now.”

“I’d _love_ to see her try. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t. So let’s avoid the violence and talk like grown-ups, huh? I come in peace. Came to see if you were injured or anything, actually, though you look comfortable enough.” Jacobi paused, surprised at how relatively easy he was finding it to remain friendly. “And it’s Daniel, by the way. Not Lancelot.”

“Well, _Lance,_ I’m not injured. Surprised whoever told you I was friendly didn’t tell you I’m not the fighter of the family. My lungs haven’t worked since I was a kid. It’s Ren- her majesty who’s the warrior. And the smart one.”

“ _Daniel._ That doesn’t seem to leave much for you. Is she the attractive one, too?”

He smirked, righting himself in one fluid motion. He didn’t _move_ like someone who ‘wasn’t a fighter’. “I got the looks. And the charm. I had to get something, right? What did you get out of your little merry band? Your lady’s the brains, I hear. Hilbert’s the spineless traitor. The _colonel_ is your leader. So what do you do? It certainly isn’t charm.”

“First things first: Alana is no-one’s lady, and certainly not _mine._ Secondly, you don’t need charm when you’ve got _charms._ ” He clicked the fingers on his right hand, the one not made of steel, and a flame sprang up from his palm. He laughed as Eiffel’s eyes grew wide. “You never let me introduce myself properly.”

“That’s… a hell of an introduction. I’ve met sorcerers before, but never any that can do _that._ Fire magic’s supposed to be rare, right? How did you learn?” He spoke with the eagerness of the child who’d known he could never be a knight. How must it feel, looking at someone who could wield the sword and the magic he never could?

“You don’t _learn_ it,” Jacobi retorted, with the air of a man who’d had to answer the same question a thousand times. “You give yourself to it. You have to _sacrifice_. And if you’re very, _very_ lucky… it plays nice with you.” He extinguished the flame in his palm, and unconsciously rubbed the metal of his other hand. He’d never regretted his sacrifice. Hard to, when someone like Colonel Kepler found him more useful like this. That was a reward even better than fire, sometimes.

The prince was silent for a moment, looking almost with disappointment at the spot where the flame had been. He barely seemed to notice the unconscious gesture. “Was it worth the sacrifice? To have that power? To be able to do what you can do?”

Jacobi didn’t answer immediately, letting the other man study him. He remembered Kepler’s orders to seem sympathetic. “I ask myself that a lot,” he said eventually. “It’s hard to explain if you don’t have magic yourself. It was… difficult. Painful. But I can’t imagine myself without it now.” The real answer was _yes, of course, yes, unquestionably, yes, I was nothing before this._ He could live without an arm. After tasting fire, he couldn’t live without it.

The prince had been watching his face intently as he spoke, but looked away when Jacobi met his eyes. “I never thought of magic as coming with a price before. Though I guess everything else does. Look at my family: we have a kingdom, and what has it cost us? My uncle’s life, my cousin’s freedom… other things, too.” He fell silent, his gaze sliding away from Jacobi into the middle distance.

Jacobi took a chance, reading the softer change in atmosphere between them, and sat down beside the prince on the sofa. “Your health?”

He shook his head. “My family.”

*

Minkowski was already having a bad morning. She was still imprisoned “until she was more inclined to listen to reason”, she was awake much too early, and she was fairly sure there was someone hiding in her room. Carefully, she wrapped her hand round the hilt of her knife, trying to make the motion seem as sleepy as possible, and unsheathed it so she could draw it close to her chest. Then, in a single rapid movement, she rolled out of bed and landed on her feet in a crouch in front of the intruder, shoving them - her -  back against the wall. While she was still off-balance, she stood and pointed the knife at the base of the taller woman’s throat.

“Who are you?” she hissed, “And _what_ are you doing in my room?”

Isabel smirked instead of answering outright. “Careful, little girl. You could take someone’s eye out with that thing.”

Minkowski straightened her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height - still nowhere near as tall as Isabel. “My name is Renée Minkowski, Queen Regent of the Kingdom of Hephaestus, Commander of the Citadel of the Wolf. I am _not_ a little girl. Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here, or the person losing an eye here will be you.” She pressed her knife closer to her throat to emphasize her point, meeting the amused, dark-brown eyes with her own steely gaze.

“And here I thought I was rescuing a damsel in distress. So. _You’re_ the one they gave my crown to?”

“ _Your_ crown?” The younger woman drew back to study her face, then paled. “You’re not- you can’t be…”

“ _Queen_ Isabel Lovelace. Now, princess, I think we’ve reached the part of the conversation where you _lower your knife._ ”

She dropped her arm back to her side, taking a few more steps back for good measure. “That’s… not possible.” She looked as pale as a ghost. “Isabel Lovelace disappeared  from the battlefield at Camlann.”

“Let’s say she took the scenic route.” Isabel took in the woman in front of her: far more of a threat than she’d looked while she’d been asleep, although Isabel had been more admiring than studying at that point. “I don’t need to tell you my life story. You, however, need to tell me exactly what’s been going on in _my_ castle.”

The princess looked as though she was on the verge of bursting into tears - or laughter. “It’s a _very_ long story. I think there are a number of books on the subject. For now, all you need to know is that my family are descended from your steward, my father was assassinated the night before last, and I’ve been kept prisoner by the assassins ever since.” She took a hesitant step forward. “Did you _really_ climb up here to rescue me?”

“If I’d known you were this feisty, I’d have stayed in the grounds.” Isabel stared at this woman who was giving her more questions than answers. “You say _descended_ like it’s been… decades.”

Renée sheathed her knife. The woman might be insane, but she certainly wasn’t threatening her.. “If you’re the _real_ Isabel Lovelace, and not some… hallucination, or some ridiculous attempt by my captors to convince me I’m losing my mind… if you’re really who you say you are, you might want to sit down.”

Not taking her eyes off the princess, Isabel stepped backwards until she hit the heavy brocade of the eiderdown and sat on the edge of the bed. “Fine. I’m sitting. And I’m not a hallucination - I’d be happy to pinch you if that will convince you.”

Renée shook her head, biting her lip. “Queen Isabel Lovelace disappeared three hundred and fifty-nine years ago. She’s a fairytale, a legend, she walked with the Lady Rhea at her side…” She blinked, eyes suddenly focussing, and she had to swallow another terrified laugh, “And she’s sitting right in front of me.”

Isabel shook her head. _Rhea, what have we done?_ “That’s not funny.”

The princess folded her arms, more as if to protect herself than to restrain herself. “I’m not joking. Welcome back, your majesty. “ She paused, “I - I know you might need a minute - I certainly do - but unless you want the imperial assassins to have two queens hostage instead of one, we need to _run. Now._ Their guards are right outside my door, and if they’ve heard _anything_ -”

“I’m not afraid of a fight, princess.”

She gave her a tremulous smile, “Neither am I. But I’m barely armed, and neither of us are in any state to fight our way out of here. Better for none of them to know what’s happened until we’re far away from here - until half the countryside has already heard that the once and future queen has returned.”

  _The once and future queen._ “You make me sound like… a bedtime story. A myth.”

She curled her fingers around her elbows, looking at the ground instead of at the woman. “My mother used to tell me stories of you every night till the day she died. She said… she said they would teach me to be a good queen.” Her voice caught on the last word. She was truly an orphan now - and not the queen her mother had so hoped for.

“I think your mother should have read you a textbook instead,” Isabel said, a little more darkly than she’d intended. Flashes of her former life flew past her eyes; Fourier, Hui, _Sam…_ This young woman was probably already a better queen than she’d ever been. “I’m sorry about your parents. You should never have been put in this position.”

She shrugged, “You couldn’t help me being _born_ -” She cut off with a gasp as she heard a knock at the door, mouthing _hide_ at Isabel. She ducked into the shadows behind the canopies of the bed, crouching low.

“Princess?” The guard said, nervously. It was the first time any of the guards had spoken to her during her captivity. “Are you… talking to someone in there?”

Minkowski feigned a loud yawn. “You woke me up! I was probably talking in my sleep.”

“I heard you talking _to_ someone. Now, I’m going to open the door, and if you or your friend try anything-”

She was already back in bed before he’d opened the door, the picture of outraged royal modesty, sheets pulled up to her chest and her knife clasped tightly behind her back again. “How dare you enter your queen’s bedchamber without asking! Have you lost your decency as well as your loyalty? Who do you even think I could have in here?”

He looked around the seemingly empty room, seemingly dumbstruck by her enraged innocence. “I thought-”

“You thought? We’re at the top of a tower with one door that you’re already guarding! Who do you think I _could_ have in here? Do you think Queen Isabel Lovelace appeared in the kingdom’s hour of need to sweep me into her arms and save the day? _Idiot!_ ” She swung her legs out of bed and stormed up to him,  shaking him by the upper arms and shoving him back towards the door. He was so surprised he offered her no resistance, never mind that he had a foot of height on her, a sword, and a chainmail shirt while she was still only in her nightgown. “Get _out!_ Am I to be humiliated as well as a prisoner?”

He stumbled backwards, tripping over words that she assumed were supposed to be apologies. She shoved him again, and this time he tripped neatly over the threshold, allowing her to slam the door in his face. Slowly, she turned back to Isabel, one hand behind her back, the other raised to press a finger to her lips. Smiling widely, she revealed what she held in her other hand: her knife, and the sword-belt she had cut through with it while the guard had been distracted.

Isabel smirked, her former confidence restored. “Not bad, princess. Not bad at all.”

The younger woman grinned, shaking back her hair and tying the belt around her waist. Moving quickly around the room, she grabbed any warm clothes and food that were lying around and tied them into a neat bundle. Finished with her packing, she held out her hand to Lovelace. “Now, ready to rescue me?”

“Your wish is my command,” Isabel replied, taking her hand. She contemplated pressing a kiss to it like the fairytale hero she’d been made out to be, but promised herself to save that, and other things, for later. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's our beginning! Back on Tuesday. As always, catch us on tumblr @lottiesnotebook (Charlotte), and @captainlovelxce (Ada). We'd love to know your thoughts!


	3. ii: like ashes and embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fine. We’ll do it your way. First the princess… then the dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title today is from "Exeunt" by The Oh Hellos.

“What do you mean, _she escaped?”_ The Chancellor was furious.

So was Kepler: “I mean that the _incompetents_ you had guarding her somehow managed to let her vanish from her rooms. Care to explain, Hilbert?”

“ _Explain?_ I hand you people this kingdom on a platter and you let the key to it fall through your fingers!”

“The fingers of the men _you_ entrusted her to.” He sighed, rubbing his temples, “We should have just killed the brat along with her father. Jacobi, _please_ tell me you have some _good_ news about the cousin?”

Jacobi seemed to awake from his own personal reverie with a start. “Eiffel? You were right when you said he wouldn’t be a problem. Some sympathy and a few flashy tricks got him to open right up.”

Kepler’s attention snapped back to Hilbert as soon as he heard what he’d been hoping for. “You see? This is why two _competent_ underlings are worth more than an _entire castle_ of easily bribed idiots. Maxwell, any news yet on how the princess got away?”

Maxwell, who had been smirking at Jacobi’s reaction to the compliment, turned her gaze back to Kepler. “From the state of her rooms, she must have had help. Someone brought her a rope and helped her out of the window. From there… I’m working on tracking them, but they could have gone anywhere. It’s a big city, but if she’s still within the walls, we’ll find her.”

“Excellent. Maxwell, you keep tracking the princess down. Our funds are at your disposal. Jacobi, keep it up with the prince. Given that the _chancellor_ can’t keep one little girl under lock and key, I apparently can’t leave him to run this kingdom unsupervised.”

Jacobi nodded. “Of course, sir. Although…” he continued, and then didn’t finish the sentence.

Kepler looked at his expression, and then at Maxwell and Hilbert. “The two of you are dismissed. Maxwell, you can have that conversation you’re clearly _dying_ to have with Jacobi on your own time. Hilbert… _try_ not to lose anything else while I’m gone.”

They left, Hilbert storming out, Maxwell following him with a significant glance to Jacobi. She would catch up with him later, apparently. When they were finally alone, Kepler looked back to him expectantly.

“Well?”

Jacobi searched for the best way to voice his concern. Their conversation took on a different dynamic when they were alone, but that didn’t mean he could speak his mind freely and not get punished for it if Kepler didn’t find his words to his liking. “He’s definitely talkative… but not _actually_ as stupid as he looks. He never reveals anything personal unless I do. It could become a problem.”

“If the prince becomes a problem, I trust you to _deal_ with that problem. I’d prefer him as our ally than our enemy, and I know you’ll do whatever needs to be done in order to see that happen.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Jacobi admitted, and immediately regretted it. He’d rather enjoyed having Kepler’s favour for the duration of the meeting so far, and the man’s moods were as changeable as the wind.

“What exactly _did_ you mean, Daniel?” His voice took on a dangerous edge - he wasn’t angry yet, but he could turn at any moment.

Jacobi held his gaze and laced his voice with a double meaning that was familiar to the both of them. “I’m asking you _how_ personal you want me to be _._ How far you want me to go. And I’m asking not just as your second-in-command, but as...” he stopped himself, and let the title hang unsaid, as it always did.

Kepler shrugged, his expression painfully ambivalent. “As personal as the task requires. I trust you to do well enough to fool him without fooling yourself. You know we can’t trust him. He has to believe he can trust _you_.”

“Ah yes, the trustworthy fire sorcerer,” Jacobi quipped. “We don’t exactly have a reputation for it, you know. I’m useful to _you,_ but you forget how the rest of the world sees me.”

Kepler leaned forward then -  much too close, not close enough - and murmured: “There’s a first time for everything, Daniel. Prove them wrong. And then come back to me.”

He drew back, turned, and strode out of the room without a glance back at Jacobi, who remained frozen in place. Seconds after he had left, Alana slipped back in, quick and quiet as a shadow.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“You know,” Jacobi said, still staring at the spot where Kepler had left, “I am a _highly_ accomplished sorcerer. I have fire magic - the kind most people could only dream of. I could level entire cities. Wage wars. And here I am, spending most of my time wondering if my master is going to kiss me or kill me.” He stopped, and looked at her properly. “Genuinely, I have no idea how that went.”

She looked him over as though checking for injuries. “Well, you don’t _look_ like he killed you, so I’m assuming it went… well? Better than my request to go dragon-hunting did, anyway.”

“If you find the princess with enough time to spare, I’m sure you could persuade him to… Oh, who am I kidding. I have no idea if he’ll let up. But I can lend a hand if he does.” He knew how important this was to Maxwell. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t put up with enough from him in the past to warrant a few favours.

A smile he never liked the look of appeared. It was the look she got when she was going to do something very stupid or very dangerous. “You know… there’s no reason why I can’t hunt the princess _and_ the dragon at the same time…”

“ _Alana.”_

“What? I’m just saying, the two are usually found together…”

“I’m not hearing this,” Jacobi said, hanging his head. “I am concentrating on my work. I am thinking up ways to get the prince to like me. I am _not_ listening to you talk about directly disobeying the colonel in front of me.”

“It’s not _direct_ disobedience. He told me to look for the princess. He never said I couldn’t look for dragons at the same time.” He still looked unconvinced. “Come on, Daniel! They say a dragon can find anyone within their territory if they want to!”

“You don’t make _deals_ with _fae_ , Alana,” he continued. “Even if you found the last dragon, there’s no guarantee they’d help you without asking for something important in return.” He wrung his hands as best he could with one made of steel, and tried not to think about Maxwell in the same kind of pain.

“And the cost is more than you ever want to pay, I know, I know…” As if they hadn’t had this argument on a thousand different occasions. “But there would be no harm in asking, right?”

Jacobi shook his head, worry rather than severity driving his words. “I’m _telling_ you no. I mean it.”

She rolled her eyes with a snort, every inch the exasperated younger sister. “ _Fine_. We’ll do it your way. First the princess… then the dragon.”

*

This time when Jacobi entered, Eiffel was not hanging upside down on the couch. He was flicking through a book of romances without truly reading them, hoping that he presented a suitably forlorn image. Word of Minkowski’s escape had spread through the palace like wildfire, and with her safety a little more certain, he could begin his own game with his captors.

“You’re back,” he said, trying to feign disinterest in the first human face he’d seen all day.

“I had a spare moment,” Jacobi said, lingering in the open doorway. “May I come in?”

“No, you can linger in the doorway like a cold draught. Of course you can come in. It’s basically your castle now anyway.” Too bitter, or the right amount of tired disinterest? _Let him think he’s working for your trust, and he won’t question it when you make him think he’s earned it._

Jacobi put on the deferent smile he used whenever Kepler was being particularly high-strung. “You’re still a prince, and I’m still just a knight. Not even nobly born, but don’t spread it around.” He stepped over the threshold and into Eiffel’s quarters. “You must be worried about your cousin.”

“Isn’t everyone? It’s you who should be worried, though. I’ve never met anyone more determined than the princess. If you think needing to flee her own castle will slow her down, you don’t know her.” Not exactly new information, but it seemed revealing enough to make Jacobi more comfortable.

“So,” Jacobi replied, conversationally. “You _do_ know about that. I told the colonel it was foolish to try and keep it from you.”

He yawned and stretched. Given that Jacobi hadn’t asked a direct question about his sources, he had no reason to provide an answer. “I’m sure there are still a few deaf beggars down in the market who might not have heard the news, but word travels fast between the palace and the city. They should have the news by this afternoon. I can hear the town criers now: ‘Hear ye, hear ye, princess fled, castle taken by imperial assassins!’ I can’t imagine how embarrassing Colonel Kepler will find that. Can you?”

“It’s good to see captivity hasn’t ruined your sense of humour,” Jacobi said, amused, although Eiffel’s words rang true. “I promise, we’ll find your cousin soon enough. Besides,” he added, and flickered his fingers, “I leave _worrying_ to those who aren’t fae-blessed.”

As he could have predicted, Eiffel’s eyes snapped to the flame dancing between his fingers. “It takes a lot to ruin my sense of humour, Lancelot.” But his voice was distant, bereft of its usual edges. _Magic._ He couldn’t help but be drawn to it in spite of himself.

“It’s _Daniel._ And for you, it’s Jacobi.” Despite his tone, Jacobi was pleased to see the direction of the prince’s gaze and let the flames dance a little more showily. “You like magic? Most people tend to avoid it.”

“ _Most people_ are idiots. They don’t appreciate the marvels worked right in front of them.”

“And you’re not an idiot?” Jacobi asked, and then had an idea. “Would you like to see it up close?” He moved to sit beside Eiffel, nudging the books out of the way. “It won’t burn you. I won’t let it.”

Eiffel leaned over the flames which danced in duplicate within his eyes, and gently cupped his own hands around Jacobi’s. “ _Beautiful,_ ” he whispered, with a reverence that was not entirely feigned.

Jacobi was pleased, but tried not to let it show on his face. His magic was feared and respected, and Kepler had commented admiringly on its power and violence, but no-one had ever seen its beauty before. He cooled down the flames until they were just comfortably warm to the touch, and transferred them into Eiffel’s own hands. As the fire was, in a way, an extension of himself, it felt more than a little intimate. “I normally let someone buy me a drink before doing this,” he joked off-handedly.

“Well, I’ll owe you one. Or five. Or ten. Hell, I’ll break you into the wine cellars if you ever let me out of this room. This is… like something from a dream.” He looked up, eyes glowing with fire, and Jacobi realised suddenly how close their faces were to each other. He could count every freckle on his nose…

He extinguished the flames when he smelled burning, and heard Eiffel yelp and pull away. How had he gotten so distracted as to lose control of the fire?

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking around for water. “I don’t usually do this.” In fact, he had never let someone else hold his fire. Not even Kepler. “Are you hurt?” How long did it take for normal humans to burn? He couldn’t remember now. It had been so long.

Eiffel was cradling his hand to his chest. “It isn’t as bad as it should be. I guess that serves me right. Even children know that if you play with fire, you’ll end up burned.”

“I guess no-one ever taught me that,” Jacobi said wryly. “My father wasn’t, uh… particularly attentive to those sort of things.”

Eiffel smirked, “That does explain the scars. Though I guess I’ll have to stop picking on you for it, since we match now.” He held  up his injured hand. “I should put something cold on this. Would you mind fetching me some fresh water? I’d get it on my own but... “ He gestured to the guarded door.

“Right, sure.” Jacobi stood up and made his way to the door, turning once he reached the threshold. “Sorry, again. I really didn’t mean to burn you. The only skill I have is burning things, I guess.”

Eiffel looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “I wouldn’t say that.” He paused, then added: “Thank you - for sharing your magic with me, I mean. It was worth a little burning.”

The last thing he’d expected was thanks. “You’re welcome,” Jacobi said, and left the prince’s room.

*

“When you said we’d find help in the mountains, I wasn’t expecting… _this_ .” Renée stared up at the huge reptile circling above them as Isabel flagged her down. “None of your stories ever mentioned _dragons._ ”

Isabel grinned. “She doesn’t always look like a dragon, but that’s a secret.”

“She’s _beautiful_ …” The dragon’s scales shimmered an opalescent white - no, a glossy, iridescent  pink - as she landed beside them, as softly as a leaf in spite of her size.

“Thank you!” she replied, her voice unexpectedly high and sweet given her size.

The princess blinked at the unexpected response as Isabel strode forward to embrace her scaled neck, laughing as though reunited with an old friend, “ _Rhea!_ Gods, is it good to see you.” _Rhea?_ Minkowski frowned. Leaving aside the fact that her new companion was apparently still friends with an ancient legend, none of the stories mentioned the fae Lady Rhea was a _dragon._

The dragon froze, then gently pulled herself away, shaking her head, “No, I’m sorry, I’m not her. Rhea’s… gone. Just like the others.”

Isabel stepped backwards, completely dismayed, but at the same time somehow not surprised. Everyone else had left her. It only made sense that Rhea would too. “My apologies. You.. you look like her. My friend.”

“She was my sister. You saw me with her a few times, but… never like this. I’m sorry. I’m sure she’d be here if she could.”

“Hera?” Isabel surveyed the creature who was both so familiar and so strange to her. “My, how you’ve grown.” That was an understatement. She was almost larger than Rhea was. _Older_ than Rhea had been.

“I’m surprised you remember me at all,” Hera said, blushing, or maybe the sun was just hitting her scales. “I was little more than a hatchling then. Who’s your companion?”

A smile found its way onto her face. “Rhea hardly ever talked about anything else. This is Princess Renée Minkowski - but don’t spread that around. We were hoping for some help with a little… invasion problem.”

Hera tilted her head to one side, narrowing her eyes, an oddly human expression on a reptilian face. “So the old king _was_ murdered?” She inclined her head towards Renée. “I’m sorry for your loss, princess, but I’m glad you’ve managed to escape his fate. What happened to make you flee the castle? You’ve come a long way to find me.”

The story of how Kepler and his people had arrived as ambassadors from the Empire only to stage a coup with the connivance of her chancellor took some time to explain, but both Hera and Isabel allowed her to tell it uninterrupted - at least until Isabel took issue with her description of her rescue.

”For someone who grew up with so many bedtime stories, you sure do a poor job of telling one.” She jabbed Minkowski lightly in the side, teasing. “Give me some colour, hey? It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to rescue a damsel in distress.”

She ducked her head, blushing a little. “I don’t think that there’s a way to make ‘I woke up and found the once and future queen in my bedroom’ sound _more_ exciting than it was.” She returned to addressing Hera. “The scariest bit was when I had to shoo one of the guards out before they caught her. After that, all there was to do was packing and getting out of the window. Neither would be exactly thrilling to hear about.”

Isabel clapped a hand to her breast. “You wound me, princess. Ah, well,” she sighed, and turned her attention back to Hera.

“So, now that we’re all reading from the same page, where do you want to go next?” Hera asked, when she realised they were waiting for her response. “It’s a big kingdom. There have to be some people discontent with the Empire hiding somewhere.”

MInkowski looked thoughtful, “Well, my father mentioned that the lords on the eastern border were unhappy with imperial law being forced upon them. And the merchants to the west _really_ hate the new trade policies…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in already! Charlotte here, catch the next update on Friday. Find us on Tumblr: I'm @lottiesnotebook and Ada's @captainlovelxce if you have any questions or comments on the fic so far! We love hearing from you all, and we're really pleased with all the feedback we've been getting so far!


	4. iii: what kind of man loves like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minkowski had known being queen would be a test of her patience. She’d known that starting a rebellion wouldn’t be easy. But as always, human stupidity had surpassed her expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "What Kind Of Man", by Florence and the Machine.

“Ugh!” Alana collapsed theatrically onto her desk with a groan. “I know I promised you an update on the princess situation today, but the woman’s impossible to track! I have reports from six separate towns in every corner of the kingdom that she’s been sighted there, but just as many claiming to have seen a dragon, or their mythical Queen Lovelace back from the dead! It’s like looking for a needle in a pile of small, sharp, metallic objects!” She paused, finally looking over at her friend on the armchair, who was staring into the fireplace. “Jacobi? Are you listening to me?”

Jacobi snapped up to look at her with a start. “Yeah, yeah. Sharp metallic objects. I hear you.”

She threw a scroll at his head, which he caught without looking. “What’s gotten into you? I swear you barely listen to  _ anything  _ any more. You just stare into the fire and brood.” She got up from her desk and moved across the room until she could lean over the back of his chair and ruffle his hair. “What’s on your mind? Kepler, again? This whole ridiculous mission?”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” Jacobi answered her softly, in a rare show of self-doubt. He could always be honest with Alana.

“You’re never sure you’re cut out for anything that doesn’t involve setting things on fire. And for someone who says he isn’t good with people, you seem to be spending a lot of time in the prince’s company.” She’d seen the prince almost laugh at something Jacobi had said at the dinner he’d been allowed to attend the night before. It had been the only moment where his eyes hadn’t been fixed on Kepler as though he’d been sharing the dinner table with a lion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice turned short, as he was taken by surprise. “I’ve been  _ ordered  _ to spend time with him.”

She shrugged. “Nobody’s ordered him to spend time with you, but he hasn’t kicked you out of his quarters yet. That says to me you’re doing better than you think.” She looked at him sidelong, eyes narrowed. “Or is it something  _ else  _ to do with the prince that’s bothering you?”

His eyes flickered around the room, and to the exits, but he kept his voice casual. “Is there a point you’re coming to, or?”

She looked him square in the face. “We’ve done worse missions than this. We’ve seen each other do worse than what you’re supposed to be doing with the prince. So what is it about  _ this  _ mission that’s distracting you so much? I’ve never seen you so unfocused. Kepler’s never had to repeat an order to you before yesterday.”

“Gods, don’t remind me. I thought he was going to throw me off the tower.” Jacobi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It feels wrong - all of it. I’m a sorcerer, not a spy. And for the first time ever, I have no idea what Kepler really wants from me.” The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. He prided himself on his ability to read Kepler better than anyone else. This mission had turned that upside down. 

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “This mission… it’s asking a lot of all of us, Daniel. Maybe you most of all. But Kepler wouldn’t have assigned you this task if he didn’t think you could follow through.”

“Believe me,” Daniel said wryly, “I can follow through. That’s not the problem. I have the prince practically eating out of my hand. But shouldn’t that… you know,  _ bother  _ him? Shouldn’t he be…” he wanted to say  _ jealous,  _ but stopped himself. “Concerned?”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ .  _ That  _ makes more sense.” She frowned, thoughtfully. “If he was concerned about…  _ that _ , do you think either of us would know about it unless he thought it could compromise the mission? For all his faults, neither of us can claim he puts his personal feelings above the mission very often.” At least if the personal feeling in question wasn’t his pride. Then she blinked.  _ Jacobi  _ of all people would know this already. Which implied… “Unless  _ you  _ think it could compromise the mission?”

He looked at her sharply. “I would never. Especially not with you here. Look, it’s not as if I kid myself that he  _ cares  _ about me, but I thought he’d have more reservations about whoring his second-in-command out to an enemy. That’s all.” He crossed his arms, frustrated with himself. “I needed clearer orders than this.”

“Clearer orders than: ‘Get to know the prince, find out how much he knows and how far we’d have to go to make him work with us?’ You’re smarter than that, Daniel. Besides, it’s not like Kepler’s shown reservations about whoring  _ any  _ of us out before, himself included.”

“ _ Not me,”  _ he retorted immediately, voice raised louder than he’d intended. A pent-up rage simmered under his skin, hot to the touch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

She was shaking the hand she’d pulled away from his shoulder as though he’d burnt her. “Well,  _ that  _ explains a lot. You’re  _ angry  _ with him!” She stared at him as though he’d just grown a second head. “You’re  _ never  _ angry with him. You’re usually the one telling  _ me  _ to calm down when I don’t like our orders.”

“You’re not the one sleeping with him,” Jacobi muttered under his breath. “It’s fine. You know what? It’s  _ fine _ ! I just hate being cooped up in here, that’s all, it’s driving me crazy. I’m never letting him put me on  _ babysitting  _ duty again.” He shook himself slightly. “Sorry. I know you don’t like to hear about this. Me and him.”

Had she been a different kind of person, she might have hugged him. Had he been different, he might have accepted it. “Who else could you tell if not me? In the capital, it was a dangerous game. Here...” She didn’t need to elaborate on the risks. “Be careful with both of them, alright? For me? I can’t do this without you.”

Jacobi opened his mouth to make a joke instead of replying properly, as was his custom, but stopped himself at her surprisingly heartfelt expression. “I promise,” he said instead, and hoped that he meant it.

 

*

 

“Did you have any reason for dragging me out of bed,  _ colonel, _ or did you just feel bored?” The prince seemed every inch the sulky royal brat that had been described to him by Hilbert, and Kepler was beginning to find his attitude every bit as grating as the princess’s. “I’m sure if you wanted anything from me, you’d send your pet sorcerer instead of going to the effort of summoning me yourself.”

Kepler kept a pleasant smile on his face, and called Eiffel’s bluff. “If you don’t like having Sir Jacobi around, I’d be more than happy to give him some different duties for a few days. You can have some alone time. A  _ lot  _ of it.”

Eiffel snorted, “And exchange him for solitary confinement? Yeah, no thanks. I’ll keep your  _ pet _ . At least he’s a better conversationalist than his master.” He watched Kepler’s face for any sign of a reaction, but saw no change in his features. Nothing about who the sorcerer was to him.

Kepler had to admit to himself that he didn’t particularly mind Jacobi being described as his ‘pet’. He’d worked hard to tame himself a fire sorcerer, after all. There was no point in not enjoying the fruits of his labours. “That’s settled then. Why don’t we get down to business?”

He folded his arms and leaned back, casually. “What  _ business  _ could you have with me? The whole kingdom’s probably buzzing about my cousin’s escape already. They know she’s alive. You’ll gain nothing from trying to put me in her place.”

“Whereas you’d stand to gain a lot by being a little more  _ helpful. _ ”

“What can you possibly have to offer me? Better food? More wine? Not torturing me? A prison’s a prison,  _ sir _ . It doesn’t matter if it’s a bedroom or a cell.” He managed to make the honorific sound like an insult.

“Oh, ye of little imagination. When I find your cousin, Eiffel - and I will find her, make no mistake about that - the sort of welcome she’ll return to will rely entirely on  _ your  _ good behaviour. Do you catch my meaning? Or do I have to spell it out for you? I can tell the schooling’s not up to much in this castle.”

He tried not to reveal his sudden interest. Or his fear. But he did lean forward a little. “And what will my  _ good behaviour _ get me in the meantime?”

Kepler laughed. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you  _ want _ ?”

“Free run of the palace. I’m not  _ stupid,  _ I know I’ll be under guard and that there’s no way you’ll let me leave. But it’ll do you all some good if the  _ remaining  _ member of the royal family is seen out and about, and frankly I’m sick of being stuck in my room like a misbehaving child.”

“Then stop acting like one.” Kepler considered his request, keeping his face impassive. “Under strictest supervision… possibly.”

The prince folded his arms. “Put your sorcerer in charge of it. He’s one of your people, you must trust him more than the guards you’ve had on my door. And he’s more entertaining to talk to than Lady Dragon-speaker. Did you pick him for his sense of humour?” 

“He’s a man of many talents.” Despite himself, Kepler found he was growing more interested in Eiffel’s own interest in his knight. “You want Jacobi, specifically?”

Eiffel shrugged, attempting to convey a disinterest he didn’t entirely feel. “He’s good company, as far as gaolers go. Besides, I’d prefer the devil I know to one of your choosing. And who else would you trust as much? The dragon girl?  _ Hilbert?  _ I’m not exactly dangerous enough to need  _ your  _ undivided attention.”

Kepler leaned forward, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers. “You’re very determined to divine the exact nature of my relationship with my subordinates, aren’t you? It’s a clumsy attempt, but sweet. So. Free run of the palace - under supervision - in return for a little more  _ compliance.  _ Do we have a deal?”

Eiffel felt his stomach churn with revulsion, but gave a curt nod. “Yes.”  _ You’ll excuse me if I can’t bring myself to shake on it _ , he added silently.

“Excellent. I’ll see that your guards are notified.” 

Eiffel shoved back his chair and left without another word. It would be some time before he could quell the nausea that accompanied his deal with the devil.

 

*

 

“What do you  _ mean,  _ you’re confused?” Minkowski had known being queen would be a test of her patience. She’d known that starting a rebellion wouldn’t be easy. But as always, human  _ stupidity  _ had surpassed her expectations.

“Well, princess,” the nervous-looking lord in front of her replied, “It’s not exactly… typical to have two unrelated women both claiming to be queen and expecting an army to follow the two of them together. Have you even discussed  _ which  _ of you we’re putting on the throne?” The crowd of nobles behind him mumbled their agreement.

Renée looked across to Isabel helplessly.  _ Please shut them up, _ she thought, not knowing if it was directed to the other woman or to the gods.

“A castle usually has two thrones,” Isabel said from her relaxed position, leaning against the wall and inspecting the sword she’d just finished sharpening. “So you can stop interrogating my betrothed.” She returned Renée’s gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow, warning.  _ Don’t make a fuss. _

Renée opened her mouth, closed it again, and prayed she wasn’t blushing. The nobles looked equally dumbstruck. “Does this arrangement resolve your concerns?” she said, at last, hoping she didn’t sound like she was choking on surprise. “It’s practically traditional in resolving royal disputes. I’m surprised none of you thought to ask us about it before.”

“I didn’t think we’d have to explain something so obvious,  _ beloved, _ ” Isabel added, and smirked. 

_ Goddammit, Isabel! _ It was really impossible to be angry with her, particularly when she held a sword like they’d been invented for her hands - no, she was not getting distracted by her  _ fiancée’s  _ hands in the middle of a meeting. 

“Apparently your faith in our vassals’ perceptiveness was misguided. But all seems to be clear now, and I’m sure we can be magnanimous so soon before our wedding.  _ Darling. _ ”

_ Not bad, princess.  _ “If that’s all, you’re dismissed,” Isabel announced to the group of nobles. “We appreciate your time,” she added, after a warning glance from Renée. “But my fiancée and I have much to discuss.”

As soon as they were alone, Renée started out of her seat. “ _ Betrothed?” _ she hissed, “What were you  _ thinking,  _ springing that on me?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to get flowers,” Isabel quipped, not rising to Renée’s tone. “What’s your problem? Would you rather fight for the crown? Trust me,” she smiled, curling those long, nimble fingers around the hilt of her sword, “you wouldn’t win.”

“It’s not about what my  _ problem  _ is, it’s about you just…  _ deciding  _ we’re engaged! Without asking! Or, you know, letting me know!” She could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“It’s a  _ political alliance. _ ” Isabel straightened up. “I’m not asking out of  _ sentiment.  _ We needed to placate that bunch of stuffy nobles, so I made an executive decision - one I’m sure you would have come to on your own with more time.”

“Of course I would have come to it! Hell, if you’d  _ asked  _ me I would have agreed! All we’d’ve needed was to get them out of the room for five seconds so you could  _ tell  _ me! But no, I’m Isabel Lovelace, I’m making an  _ executive decision… _ ” She stormed closer to the other woman, “How  _ incompetent  _ do you think I am?!”

“We have a kingdom to run, little girl,” Isabel hissed. “And I’m not jeopardizing  _ my  _ crown because your precious feelings are hurt. If you can’t deal with that - ”

“ _ Your  _ crown? Don’t act like you’re the only one who gives a damn here, you’ve been  _ gone  _ three-hundred years! And meanwhile, guess who’s been making most of the decisions round here for the past five years-”

“Oh, and what an  _ excellent  _ job you’ve been doing - “

“So you’re blaming  _ me  _ for  _ my father’s assassination? _ What have you even been doing, napping? Because it certainly wasn’t your job!”

“ _ Watch yourself, princess _ -” Isabel stopped dead, millimetres away from Minkowski. Without turning around, she snapped: “Did your sister never teach you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

From the nearby window, Hera looked up and smiled mischievously. “Oh, I didn’t want you to stop on  _ my  _ account. The two of you seemed very…  _ engaged _ .” The dragon sounding like she was trying to suppress laughter, and not succeeding.

Isabel turned around and glared at her. “You’re not funny.”

“No, but the two of you are  _ hilarious _ . I had an idea you might want to hear about, but if you’re  _ busy… _ ” She paused, an air of draconic smugness surrounding her. It was hard to intimidate a being with a hide thick enough to protect against arrows. 

“No, not busy at all!” Minkowski stepped away from Lovelace and towards the window, but not without shooting the other woman a parting glare. “I would  _ love  _ to hear your idea right now.”

“Well,” Hera said, her long, lithe body slipping through the window. “If you’re sure. Word in the city says that the team behind your little coup brought a dragon-speaker with them. And she seems  _ very  _ keen to meet me.”

Minkowski’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this idea?”

“How are your greek myths, Princess Minkowski? Have you heard of the Trojan Horse?”

“I think a Trojan  _ Dragon _ would be even easier to spot,” Minkowski said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Seriously, are you really considering putting yourself into their hands? They’ve probably heard rumours of a dragon with us already. If you go to them… we won’t be able to protect you.”

Isabel nodded. “The lady has a point, Hera.” She couldn’t countenance the idea of anything happening to Rhea’s sister. She was the last connection to the past she had left.

“Protect  _ me? _ ” Hera scoffed. 

“Even dragons can be slain.  _ Especially  _ if there’s a dragon-speaker involved.”

“Have you ever  _ met  _ a dragon-speaker?” Hera asked, looking more disappointed in the both of them by the second. “Trust me, she’d be too busy studying me to slay me. And besides, I wasn’t actually thinking of going like  _ this. _ ” The dragon shimmered, and in her place stood a young woman with pearly-white hair and the dragon’s same mischievous smile. 

Minkowski blinked. “Well, that… changes things.” She turned to Lovelace, “Could she  _ always  _ do that? Could all of the dragons?”

Isabel was smiling. “Rhea could. All right, Hera, I think we could make this work. If you went there bartering information for shelter, got the dragon-speaker to like you - and put some clothes on, obviously - a Trojan dragon could be just what we need.”

 

*

 

Jacobi arrived outside of Eiffel’s quarters the next morning with a surly expression, bereft of his usual jaunty air. 

“Ready to go?” he asked, barely looking at the prince.

Eiffel, as usual, looked disgustingly cheerful. “Anywhere’s better than here.” He noticed the other man’s expression, and his smile faltered. “What got you out of the wrong side of bed this morning?”

Jacobi stepped aside to allow Eiffel to leave the room with him. As he moved to fall into step beside him, he couldn’t hide the dark bruise on his right cheekbone - the one that wasn’t scarred. “Don’t concern yourself with my morning routine.”  _ It wasn’t my bed, anyway. _

“Ouch, was it that bad? Did someone leave a snake in your bed? Or something else?” He looked him up and down. “ _ Something  _ must have bitten you today. Not excited for our first fun day out together?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Jacobi said slowly, not entirely ignoring the question, “if you’d stop intentionally annoying my master. Especially as I’m stuck with you, now.”

“Aw, but it’s so much fun! Have you ever noticed there’s a vein right here that starts pulsing when he’s trying not to lose his temper? He should get that looked at before it gives him an apoplexy.” Jacobi strode off, and Eiffel had to walk quicker to catch up. “Hey!” He grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn. He looked around before speaking more quietly. “Did he do that? Your face?”

Jacobi shrugged Eiffel’s hand off his arm after a too-long hesitation. “He’s been in a bad mood. Whatever meeting you had didn’t help matters.”

Eiffel’s expression grew horrified, then angry. “A  _ bad mood? _ What kind of an excuse is that? You’re not his  _ dog!  _ Hell, Renée and I never laid a hand on our pets, let alone our  _ servants!  _ What the hell makes him think-”

He stopped, as Jacobi was blinking at him in confusion. “I’m not making excuses. He doesn’t need one. I know what I signed up for.”

For the first time since they’d met, the prince seemed entirely serious. “Nobody signs up for this.” He looked around again, and hurried off, Jacobi trailing behind him. 

“Sorry that life as a soldier doesn’t match up to your high-born ideals,” Jacobi said, feeling a little amused. He hadn’t expected Eiffel to react so… righteously.

“Soldiers get injured in  _ war _ or in training. Not because their commanders are having a  _ bad day _ .” He paused at the door to the tower, now unguarded, that the princess had fled from. “Come on. My cousin has something in her rooms she used on bruises from training.”

“Eiffel, it’s  _ fine. _ Don’t fuss. Anyone would think you were guarding me, and not the other way around.” The bruise would fade eventually, and even that would be too quick for Jacobi’s liking.

Eiffel folded his arms. “Right. Because well-behaved royals would never  _ think  _ of helping someone else. Because you’re so  _ clearly  _ fine you wouldn’t even need help anyway.”

“What do you think I  _ do  _ for a living? Let me tell you, it’s not usually babysitting princes. Trust me, this is nothing. This is Tuesday.” He had soured - Jacobi never liked being fussed over. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“You don’t want to talk about this?  _ Fine,  _ we don’t have to talk. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He sat down in the middle of the staircase. “I’ll make your job easier for you. We can just sit here and do nothing. All. Day.”

“If you think I’m spending  _ all day  _ out here with you - “ Jacobi stopped himself. “Oh fuck, that  _ is  _ my job now. What a waste of power.” He sat down next to Eiffel. “Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off. I didn’t think you’d get so precious over a punch or two.”

There was silence for a moment. Then: “It’s not about ‘a punch or two’. You’re a big, scary fire sorcerer who can probably take care of himself in a fight better than I ever could. It’s about the chain of command, and when someone’s using it wrong.” He looked at his own hands, knotted around his knees. “Any leader who needs to use violence against his own men… nobody should have that power.”

Jacobi looked at him, his brow furrowed. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “Okay, he has bad moods. He also has good moods.  _ Really  _ good ones. Trust me, it’s worth it. Besides,” he continued, leaning back, “he doesn’t hit half as hard as my father did. I’ve got no complaints about my new life.”

“Maybe you should have.” His voice was quiet, but the only sound echoing in the dark staircase. “Nobody deserves to be treated like that as part of their job - not even you.”

“Well,” Jacobi said lightly, hoping to break the tension, “you’ve got the princely chivalry thing down. You just wouldn’t understand, Eiffel. You don’t know him like I do. He’s…” He shook his head, knowing he’d never be able to explain it to the other man. “He’s incredible. I’d do anything to stay by his side. … Short of giving up my magic, anyway,” he amended. Some things in life  _ were  _ more important than Kepler. 

“... I hope at some point he proves himself worth your loyalty. He doesn’t deserve it from what I’ve seen.” He held up a hand as Jacobi opened his mouth to deliver a retort. “You don’t have to defend him to me again. I understand how you feel perfectly.” He’d just gotten the most honesty he’d ever encountered from the knight. He just didn’t know if he could bring himself to use it.

“Come on,” Jacobi said, standing up. “Enough feelings for one day. You were promised a walk outside, so you’re getting a walk.”

He got to his feet. “Right. A walk. Things can’t look so bad once we get outside.” As he followed Jacobi, he didn’t add,  _ they can’t exactly get much worse for either of us. _

 

*

 

Jacobi headed straight to the training yard as soon as Eiffel was safely back in his quarters. He hadn’t been glossing over things when he’d complained to Alana about being cooped up - he was so restless after multiple days on guard duty that he thought he might  _ explode _ . He took it out on a few training dummies instead, hurling fireball after fireball until they were reduced to ash and he was left standing there, breathing heavily and watching their remains blow away. He still felt hot.

“Rough day?” a smooth, familiar voice asked.

Jacobi cursed silently, and turned around. “Colonel. I didn’t see you there.”

“Not surprising, given your… distraction.” He surveyed the carnage where the training dummies had been. “Has the prince been uncooperative?”

“Not at all,” Jacobi said shortly, unwilling to elaborate.

“Then I’m not sure what’s caused this outpouring of temper. Tired of being mewed up here?  _ Bored? _ ” He leant forward on the fence. “I would have thought you’d be  _ enjoying  _ such a simple task.”

“When have you ever known me to enjoy being cooped up?” Jacobi snapped. “I told you I was a bad fit for this job. You tell me to set something on fire, I set something on fire. You tell me to fight, and kill, I can do that - easy. Yes, colonel, I’m  _ bored. _ ”  _ Bored sorcerers are dangerous,  _ he thought acidly, not quite brave enough to voice the mild threat out loud.

“ _ Boredom  _ isn’t an excuse for shaking up the locals more than we have already. If you’re  _ bored,  _ find something constructive to do with your time.”

“It’s a training yard,” Jacobi said sulkily. “I’m  _ training. _ ”

“And destroying half the building with it.” Kepler kicked at the ashes that had blown through the fence that surrounded the training yard and separated them. “You’re stir-crazy, fine. Get out, explore the city. Take the prince with you if you have to. But there’s no reason to bring  _ our  _ castle down with you just because  _ you can’t control yourself. _ ”

“I wouldn’t  _ have  _ to if you weren’t  _ wasting my powers. _ ” Jacobi didn’t stop himself in time to not shout.  _ Oh, fuck.  _ He’d always had a temper, and becoming fae-blessed had only made it worse. Fire wasn’t exactly a calming influence. “What do you think I  _ am _ ?” he continued, despite his better judgement. “Some random military guard? You got yourself a fire sorcerer, well done, so  _ use  _ me.”

“Are you questioning my decisions,  _ Sir  _ Jacobi?” Kepler’s voice was low and deadly. “I  _ did  _ get myself a fire sorcerer. And I will  _ use  _ him in whichever way I see fit,  _ is that clear? _ ”

“You use me all right,” Jacobi muttered. “You know, people thought I was mad for swearing myself to a human. No-one else has ever asked that of someone like me. No-one else would  _ dare. _ ”

“Regretting your decision?” He swung over the fence with an ease that belied his age, striding closer, closer, closer to Jacobi, who remained frozen in place. He reached out a hand and and brushed the bruise on his cheek. Daniel couldn’t help but feel his breath catch, even here, even now. “No, I didn’t think so. You’re  _ mine _ .”

Daniel shivered. “Of  _ course  _ I am,” he said quietly, leaning in to the touch. “I was just making sure you remembered that.”

Kepler drew his hand away, and he almost gasped at the loss of contact. However, the other man’s next words were accompanied by a smile that could melt gold. “I will  _ never _ forget that, Daniel.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir.” He felt himself physically cool down, the fire under his skin retreating and making way for a different kind. “Alright, I’m done. Besides,” he said, moving in even closer now that they were no longer in danger of setting alight, “I  _ can  _ expend this energy in other ways.”

The smile widened, hotter than any fire he’d ever touched. “Let’s put that to the test.” 

They left the smouldering remains of the training yard, leaving nothing but the heat of fire and the smell of smoke to mark their passage. All was silent, except for the burning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ada (mothwrites/captainlovelxce) here bringing you Friday's update! Comments? Questions? We love feedback more than Alana loves dragons. Thank you so much to everyone who's left a comment, they really do make our day. We also have a Harry Potter AU going at the moment, ("of whatsapp, wool, and wizarding traditions"), so if you're enjoying this, be sure to check that out!
> 
> Coming up on Tuesday; confessions, headaches, hugs, and Operation Trojan Dragon.
> 
> Update: There is an (explicit) coda by Ada intended to be read after this chapter [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11538849/chapters/25907145)


	5. iiii: growing in the landscape, darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you think I’m a fool,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “I know everyone does. But hey, who else could love me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, we have an extra for you written by the lovely Ada (mothwrites), which takes place between our previous chapter and this one, found [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11538849/chapters/25907145) A warning note: this extra is explicit and thus was not included in the main fic. 
> 
> Chapter title is from "Landscape" by Florence and the Machine.

Hera paused at the citadel gates to take in her surroundings. She’d been to the capital before, when it had been under the rule of Queen Isabel, but she’d forgotten just how _busy_ the place was. The noise, the _smells…_ she wondered how the humans could stand it. She herself looked unremarkable in the plainest dress Isabel and Renée could find her, but she was fascinated by the city’s occupants. They swept about in colourful throngs, weaving their way through the streets from the gate where she stood all the way up to the palace itself.

Hera checked that her illusions were holding strong, so she appeared exhausted and bloodied about her shoulder and collarbones. She drew a few locks of white hair from out from the braid they were kept in and let them hang about her face, distressed. Satisfied, she took a breath, allowed herself to become visible, and fell at the feet of the nearest palace guard.

“I need to talk to Lady Alana Maxwell,” she gasped. “It’s _urgent._ ”

She’d picked a good mark, he leaned forward to help her to her feet. “Lady Alana’s a busy woman. What do you have to say that she’d want to hear?”

“Please,” Hera said, choking back fake tears. “She _needs_ to hear this. It’s about…” she stopped, and made a show of looking wildly around her to check that they weren’t being overheard. “It’s about _the last dragon._ Please, sir, I was _attacked._ The rumours are true! It’s really out there!” Hera hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thickly, but he seemed like the sort who was dying to be a knight in shining armour. Men were hopelessly easy to deceive.

She was right. He helped her up and wrapped her cloak more securely before calling for a replacement to take his place. “I’ll see you to her office myself,” he promised.

“Oh, _thank_ you.” She leaned on him as they walked, gasping pathetically for breath now and then. This slowed him down, and gave her a better chance to examine her surroundings. Much of the palace had changed, wide open rooms now split and connected to one another through a honeycomb of corridors. She hoped she wouldn’t get lost in it.

The dragon-speaker’s office was smaller than she’d expected, and more out of the way than someone so important to the new government warranted. She wondered if the woman behind the desk had been assigned this dark little room as some sort of punishment, or whether she found the company of other humans so distasteful that she was willing to suffer discomfort to avoid them.

She did not look up from her work at first as they entered. “I hope you’ve brought me either a lot of coffee or something usefu- Oh!”  She jumped as she saw Hera.

For a second, Hera forgot her play-act. The woman wasn’t what she’d been expecting. _Young,_ for one thing. Barely in her mid-twenties. She didn’t look old enough to be an expert on anything, let alone one of the cleverest people in the empire. She looked up at her with big, dark eyes set in freckled, light brown skin, through a mass of curls that had escaped the bun at the back of her head.

“This young woman’s come to see you on an urgent matter,” the guard said helpfully, leading Hera to a chair. “She’s come a long way. May I leave her with you?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She waved a dismissive hand, then turned to Hera. “Do sit down. You don’t look like someone who’s had an easy journey to these parts. Why did you come to me?”

After the guard had left, glancing hopefully at Hera as he did so, she leaned forward and pulled down the neckline of her dress just enough to expose what were obviously claw marks: and ones that a dragon-speaker would recognise on sight. “Does this answer your question?”

“So the stories are true? There is a dragon about?” She reached out as if to touch the marks, then drew her hand back. “Why did it attack you?”

“I was trying to learn more about her. But I’m not a dragon-speaker, just a student… I must have done something wrong.” Hera sniffed, hoping she looked pitiable. “I’ve been studying really hard, and tracking this one for months.”

The woman looked sympathetic. “Dragons are complex creatures. You could easily have offended her by accident. But you’re something of a scholar on the subject?”

“I try my best. It’s a fascinating subject.” Hera tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, and averted her eyes shyly. “I’ve read all your books.”

She should have opened with that line. Alana’s face broke into a wide smile. “What did you think? Did they match up to your experiences of the dragon?”

“You write beautifully,” Hera said in truth, “but… nothing could prepare a person for that.”

Alana leant forward, eyes still transfixed on where she had seen the claw marks. “Of course not. You must have been so afraid. I only wish my books could have helped you more.”

“I was the idiot who went in alone,” Hera said, returning her smile. “Although it felt like I had you with me.” Her pale skin took on a pinkish hue as she made herself blush. She found it was easy - she was enjoying herself.

“If there is a next time for you and the dragon, I’ll be by your side in person.” Alana’s expression was serious, without a single hint of suspicion. _Good_. “Do you need to return home? Will your family be worried?”

“I have no family,” Hera replied. It wasn’t quite a lie. “My only sister left this world quite some time ago. I live alone.”

Alana looked the girl over. She seemed too young, too pale, too _fragile_ to be all alone in the world. And for once, _Alana_ was the one in a position to rescue a distressed damsel. “Stay here with me for now, then. I’ll need to know everything you can tell me about the dragon. You can help me with the research for my next book, and with finding the princess. Does this sound fair? You’d be well-paid, of course.”

“To stay with you?” Hera repeated her words, as if she couldn’t quite believe them. “I’d… I’d be honoured.”

“Then say yes!” Alana smiled. “I could use an assistant I can trust in my work. What shall I call you?”

“My name is Hera,” Hera said carefully. Names were powerful, especially to the fae. She felt uncomfortable giving that much of herself away. But if Alana noticed her discomfort, she didn’t mention it.

Instead, she held out one slender hand. “Then you must call me Alana.”

Hera took it gently, holding it for a moment too long before releasing it. “Thank you, Lady Alana. Thank you for everything.”

*

For once, Eiffel was not on the verge of bouncing out of the door when Jacobi arrived to collect him. Instead, he lay on the sofa like an invalid. Jacobi could hear his lungs rasp for air from the doorway.

He didn’t bother to knock, instead hurrying to the sofa. He knelt down beside him. “Eiffel?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, “I told you my lungs don’t work for shit. This happens sometimes.” He smiled, a tired grimace that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Are you _worrying_ about me? Careful, Lancelot, someone might think you’re getting attached.”

“I’m only worried that if you die I’ll have literally _nothing_ to do,” Jacobi said, rolling his eyes. “Can I do anything to help, since I’m here?”

“Sure, you can keep pretending you don’t care. That’ll provide me with some amusement at least.” He paused, and then added, less flippantly, “A glass of water would be nice.”

Jacobi passed him the waterskin he’d filled and put in his satchel earlier. The one he _definitely_ hadn’t put in there in case Eiffel’s lungs gave him trouble on one of their walks, if anyone asked. “Here.”

He took it and drank deeply. “My hero,” he joked, handing him back the waterskin. “That helped. Thank you.”

“Should I leave you to, I don’t know, rest?” Jacobi asked uncertainly.

Eiffel shook his head. “Stay. I’m not great company right now, but having someone nearby helps. Besides, I don’t want to cause you trouble with our glorious leader again.” The bruise had faded from his face, but not from either of their memories.

“You said you wouldn’t fuss over that again,” Jacobi sighed. Eiffel’s reaction still genuinely confused him.

“Well, my cousin isn’t here right now, and one of us had to keep up the family tradition of unnecessary fussing,” he replied. “She’s usually the one who worries about other people. I tend to just make jokes from the sidelines.”

“That does sound like you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, sitting on a cushion he’d taken from the part of the sofa Eiffel wasn’t using. “Okay, I’m nearby,” he said unnecessarily. “I warn you, no one ever said I had a good bedside manner.”

He snorted, “Have you ever met Hilbert? Before he was chancellor, he was the royal doctor. Can you even imagine him with a patient?”

Jacobi mock-shivered. “Don’t, you’ll give me nightmares.”

Eiffel nudged him with a foot, “What, a brave knight like you, scared of a dweeb like Hilbert? I’m sure you  could dispose of him in a minute - if you wanted to, that is.”

Jacobi grinned. “With a snap of my fingers.”

“It must feel good, having all that power at your fingertips.” He paused, “Is it true you have to make a deal with the fae in order to become a sorcerer?”

Surprised by the question, Jacobi simply nodded instead of brushing it aside. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“That sounds like a difficult choice to make.”

“Not if you think you have nothing left to lose,” Jacobi said. His steel arm felt a little colder as he rubbed it with his thumb, a nervous habit that had worn the metal on the inside of his wrist smooth. “Just a tip: there is _always_ something left to lose.”

“What did you lose first, to make you think they couldn’t take any more from you?” Eiffel had never been _grateful_ for his failing lungs before, but now they made his tone impossible to gauge. Unable to see the other man’s face, it would be even more difficult to detect what he thought he was hearing.

Jacobi started to answer, but stopped himself before the words came out. This wasn’t part of the plan. “You’re already sick,” he joked, “you don’t want to hear about my tragic past.”

“And you don’t want to hear about mine? There must be _something_ you want to know.” He picked his words carefully - no promises of dangerous information, but it couldn’t hurt to offer him a _little_ in return, right? Minkowski would be threatening to kill him already for taking so many risks, but she wasn’t here. Would never be here again if he couldn’t play this game _right._

“You asked for it.” Jacobi sighed, and made himself a little more comfortable on the floor. “The fae took my arm because I had literally nothing else to give them. No gold, no land, no loved ones. I was banished from the kingdom I grew up in.”

“In trouble with the local lawmaker one too many times?”

“Oh no, it’s my turn.” Jacobi considered the man in front of him, and asked something he’d been curious about for weeks. “You told me you lost your family, but on paper the only family you have are the Minkowskis. So what did that mean?”

 _Shit._ He kept his tone casual, in spite of the panic that was already building in his constricted lungs. “My parents died when I was ten. An assassination, though nobody’s ever been able to prove it. I was sent here to be raised by my uncle. Raised some hell for him and my cousin, but they were all the family I had. Now he’s dead, and she…” He let his voice trail off, as though he’d told everything there was to tell.

“There’s more,” Jacobi deduced, waiting expectantly.

 _Of course he wasn’t fooled._ There had to be a way to tell the rest of the story without the whole truth coming out… or to stall for time. “Your turn. How did a nice boy like you end up banished?”

Kepler had never actually _said_ he couldn’t be honest with the prince, but Jacobi still felt uneasy. “I really don’t think you want to know,” he said, although he knew that wouldn’t work on Eiffel of all people. “It’s not a pretty story.”

He felt movement on the sofa behind him as Eiffel sat up a little more. “Indulge me. I’ve heard enough _pretty stories_ for a lifetime.”

It had been nice, having someone who didn’t think he was a monster. Eiffel liked him, he knew that. It was his job to read men like him, and it would be a shame to lose the progress he’d made. Still, a deal was a deal, and there was something hidden in Eiffel’s stories so far that he _knew_ he could take to Kepler if he could only get the truth. “I used to be a mercenary,” he said reluctantly. “Worked with gunpowder, mostly, in a small group of men. Specialists. I was just a kid, really. You know what that’s like - you think you know everything. I’d been working on something big and stupid: my own formula for Greek fire. It wasn’t approved for combat, but we were _losing,_ and I thought…” He stopped, and sighed. “It was already too volatile, and then the wind changed. It killed most of my squad before I could put it out. Didn’t lay a finger on the enemy, of course, but that’s fire for you.” He shrugged, trying to keep his voice light. “You can’t be too arrogant with it. A sailor will tell you the same thing.”

Whatever Eiffel had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. He’d known whatever the man’s past was, it couldn’t’ve been happy, but _that…_ the guilt alone could crush anyone. The guilt - and the isolation. Eiffel knew plenty about both, after what had happened to Anne. It explained why he tolerated the colonel’s _bad moods_ when any justice would have seen the man a pile of embers before he could raise a hand to his men.

Somehow, his hand had found his way to Jacobi’s shoulder.

“That’s… no wonder you thought the fae couldn’t take anything more from you.” He wondered at the cruelty of any beings who would take more from a person who’d lost what little he had. Or of a man who could take advantage of such loss.

“I would have died if the colonel hadn’t tracked me down,” Jacobi said absent-mindedly. “Fire does a lot of things, but you can’t eat it. You can’t make a shelter with it. I owe him my life. I’m loyal to him, and I lov-” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. His next words were even harder to say. “So don’t tell me,” he said abruptly, shaking Eiffel’s hand off his shoulder. “Whatever you were about to tell me, whatever I was about to worm out of you - don’t. I _don’t want to know_. Understand me?”

Eiffel understood. He understood now with perfect, crystalline clarity. And he was already realising that his ignorance had been his best friend before this moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t’ve pried. Your secrets are your own.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He wanted to reach out, to do anything to show him - he didn’t know what he wanted to show him. But the gulf between them remained, and burned like open flames.

“As are yours.” Jacobi stood up, not looking at Eiffel as he prepared to leave. “I know you think I’m a fool,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “I know everyone does. But hey, who else could love me?”

There was nothing but silence. Then, as Jacobi reached for the door handle: “You’re wrong about me. You’re wrong about both of us.” The sorcerer froze, waiting for his next words. “I don’t think you’re a fool,” Eiffel continued. He didn’t add the next denial. He didn’t know that he ever could.

Jacobi opened the door, mindful that the guards were in earshot and Eiffel would have to stop _talking._ “I wish you a quick recovery, your highness,” he said, and left.

He didn’t hear the prince’s next words, addressed to the door he’d closed behind him: “I wish you the same.”

*

Alana watched her new assistant’s pen dance across the parchment scraps they used for note taking. Her penmanship was lovely, in an antiquated way. While Alana’s own writing tended towards a shorthand scrawl intended for her eyes alone, Hera’s could practically qualify as its own artform. It was a wonder that she never ran out of space, but her notes were almost as perfect as Alana’s. Where had she learned to write like that? A girl who’d come from nowhere, as though she’d sprung out of the ground fully formed to be the assistant Alana had never known she’d needed, with the handwriting of a nun fresh from a scriptorium of several hundred years ago.

“Have I made an error?” Hera asked worriedly, tracking Alana’s gaze to her parchment.

“Not at all.” Sweet of her to worry so about disappointing her. “I was just looking at your writing. Where did you learn to write so well?”

Hera cursed silently. She’d _thought_ this looked outdated, but no-one had said anything yet. “My family was a little old-fashioned,” she said, and prayed the doctor wouldn’t ask further.

“It’s beautiful.” If more books had been written in Hera’s hand, Alana would read more for pleasure than for research. “Did you copy it from a book?”

“I… must have.” _Damn._ Deceiving guards was easy, but Hera was finding Alana harder and harder to talk to without slipping up by the day. “My sister and I liked reading ancient texts. I suppose it rubbed off on us.”

Alana frowned, “You mentioned you had a sister before, but only briefly. What happened to her?”

“I lost her,” Hera said pointedly. “Like the others.”

“That must have been hard for you. You seem so young.” Younger than Alana - she couldn’t be more than twenty.

Hera realised she needed to give the other woman _something_ to stop her suspicion growing any larger. “There was a famine.” It was technically true, after all, if one considered magic instead of food. “I was very young, and they gave up their resources to keep me alive.”

Her slender shoulders were hunched, defensive. Alana felt an uncharacteristic urge to reach out to the girl, to console her somehow. She’d never been inclined to do that for anyone but Jacobi before. “They must have loved you very much, to protect you so.”

Rhea loved her, she was sure of that. Her mother was a different story. “Hmm,” Hera said non-committally, hoping she sounded choked from sentiment and not bitterness.

Had she hurt the girl by bringing up a loss that was still painful? Alana had never been good at dealing with tears - her own or anyone else’s. She should stop pushing, but she wanted to do _something_ to repair her mistake. “At least they gave me the chance to meet you?” she offered, after running through more typical condolences and dismissing them out of hand. Hera deserved something more sincere than a formulary could provide.

“They did,” Hera said, smiling a little. “Which I’m very grateful for. But enough about me, it’s hardly interesting. There’s so much I don’t know about you yet. Do you have family in the kingdom?”

Ah. _This_ was Alana’s comeuppance for using personal questions for small talk. “No. I - I don’t have any family either. I guess we’re similar in that respect.”

“What about Sir Jacobi?” Hera teased lightly, hoping to raise the mood. “Isn’t he your... husband?”

Alana was so startled she laughed. “Jacobi? _Me?_ Never! Even if _either_ of us were interested in marriage, we certainly wouldn’t marry each other!”

There was the laugh she’d been hoping for. “Other _boys_ you have your eye on?” Hera grinned, knowing full well what Alana’s answer would be.

Alana hoped she wasn’t blushing. “The day I have my eye on _boys_ will be the day I give up dragons for shoemaking,” she said, lightly, then noticed Hera’s mischievous grin, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“What’s that human phrase? ‘Takes one to know one?’”

“Sounds about right.” Alana tried to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart. She _wasn’t_ going to do this again. Then her eyes narrowed as she reprocessed Hera’s words. “ _Human_ phrase?”

“... Human, rather than dragon,” Hera stuttered. “I am speaking to the world’s foremost expert on dragon linguistics, after all.” Was the flattery enough to cover up her mistake? _Idiot,_ letting her guard down.

“Oh, of course.” The flattery was nice, but Alana wasn’t entirely convinced. She studied her assistant from beneath her lashes as she leant back over her work. The white hair, her _extraordinary_ prettiness… “Hera?” she said, softly. This was not the kind of thing anyone wanted overheard. “Do you have fae blood?”

“M- _me_? Are you kidding? I could barely talk down a dragon,” she laughed nervously. “What makes you think - why would I - “

“Hera, I don’t mind!” she said, quickly looking around. The library was as empty as it had been all day. “My best friend is fae-blessed. A fire sorcerer. And you can hardly help the way you were born. But you don’t have to keep secrets from me.”

“Making a deal with the fae is _very_ different to being _one_ of them,” Hera snapped, forgetting herself. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the mention of fire magic. Those who had to make _deals_ to control _her_ natural element were beneath her, and frankly, a little embarrassing. “I… yes. You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to keep it from you. It’s my mother’s blood. I don’t like people knowing.”

Alana could hardly judge someone for not wanting to be associated with their ancestors. Her own were a burden enough. “Your secret’s safe with me.” There was a silence, but for the sound of rustling parchment. Then: “Did you know it’s said that the Queen of the Fae has white hair? Maybe you’re a descendant of hers.” She’d meant it as a peace offering, but Hera flinched.

“I’ve heard that, yes,” Hera said tightly. “But it’s not uncommon where I’m from.”

Alana frowned, “You know, you never mentioned the name of your village.”

“It’s just a little place in the mountains. Not important enough for someone like you to have heard of it..” Hera put on a smile, and let a wave of charm wash over Alana, calming the almost suspicious air that had risen up between them. Immediately, Alana’s face relaxed, though her hand rose to rub her temple. She noticed in spite of the sudden headache that Hera’s quill was beginning to wear down, and already had another held out when she looked up to change it.

“Thank you,” Hera said. She strengthened her human appearance just a little bit, to make herself appear sweeter and less bothered by the somewhat dangerous conversation. “I _really_ appreciate that.”

Alana kept watching as Hera bent back over her work, one of her plaits slipping from over her shoulder to kiss the parchment. She was her _assistant_ , her very clever, very competent assistant, but an assistant nonetheless. Why, then, did the _appreciation_ of this girl from nowhere matter so much to Alana?

*

Luckily, the guard stationed outside Eiffel’s quarters that evening was the same one who had ‘rescued’ her outside the palace gates, and he let her into the empty sitting room with only minimal charming.

She knocked on the bedroom door. “Prince Eiffel? May I come in?”

The door swung open “What do you w- oh,” He paused, lowered his gaze until he was actually looking _at_ her rather than over her head, then spoke again, “Who the _hell_ are you?”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said for the benefit of the guards, and propelled him forward with a strength that didn’t match her size. Once the door was closed and they could speak freely, she dropped her hand and smiled apologetically. “Please don’t make a scene. I’m a friend of your cousin, the princess. My name is Hera.”

“ _Minkowski_ sent you? Is she al- Wait. How do I know you’re not some _test_ sent down by the Terrible Trio to make sure I’m not going to turn on them as soon as I get the chance?”

Hera tutted. “If _Jacobi_ couldn’t get you to spill your innermost secrets, I’m sure there’s nothing I could do.” As Lady Alana’s new assistant, she was privy to a lot of gossip about command. Colonel Kepler had _not_ been pleased with Jacobi’s slow progress to find anything that would help them keep the prince in line. “I promise, I’m a friend. She’s safe and gathering forces to take back her castle, and she sent you this.” Hera drew out a tiny scroll from her dress that Renée had charged her with. “I assume you know your own cousin’s handwriting.”

The wax seal was imprinted with the mark of the signet ring he’d given her for her last birthday - a wolf’s head. She never took it off. He didn’t even need to see the handwriting to know the letter was hers. He tucked it into a pocket for later perusal. He was going to need that letter to get him through the coming months.

“Okay, I believe you. What did my cousin send you here to do?”

“Spy, wait for the right time, and then start bringing down the castle as they arrive to take it back.” She saw no point beating around the bush.

“A Trojan horse manoeuvre? Cunning. Wouldn’t’ve thought my honourable cousin would have come up with that.”

Hera smiled. “I did, actually. She took some persuading.”

He could have laughed if it wouldn’t have risked alerting the guards. “Yeah, that sounds like Minkowski. Too damn heroic for her own good. How is she - last time you saw her, I mean?” He couldn’t exactly expect current information from the girl - she could have left MInkowski weeks ago - but any news was better than this silence.

“She’s… getting ready for her wedding.”

“ _Minkowski’s getting married?!”_

“Yes,” Hera said. “To Isabel Lovelace. I think they’ll actually make quite a sweet couple if they could stop arguing for ten minutes.”

“ _Married?_ ” he repeated, “ _To Isabel Lovelace?_ So the rumours are true, she’s really back?” Hera nodded, and he cackled. “Wait till I find that notebook of poetry she kept when she was thirteen, this is going to be hilarious.”

“She’s really back, and trust me, this castle won’t know what’s hit it when she gets here. With her _wife._ ” Hera grinned. She hadn’t had anyone to joke about this with yet - humans were so _serious_ \- and she sensed that she and the prince were going to get on famously.

He returned her grin, then covered his mouth to suppress another whoop of laughter. “I can’t believe my cousin’s actually marrying _Isabel Lovelace_ . Gods, I wish I could tease her about this! I can’t wait for the news to get back to Kepler. He’s going to have a _stroke,_ ” He looked thoughtful, “which would be pretty convenient, given that I don’t think either of his minions are interested in holding the kingdom without him.” _Jacobi_ certainly wasn’t.

“Speaking of which,” Hera said a little more seriously, “I’m posing as Lady Alana’s assistant, so you can’t be too friendly with me if we see each other in public. Actually, I should be getting back before she gets suspicious…”

He stopped laughing and nodded. “You should. Only come and see me if you _really_ need to, we can’t rely on you always being able to sneak past the guards. Not to mention Sir Jacobi keeps a close eye on me, though I’m trying to work on that.”

Hera stored that information away for later, noting Eiffel’s expression. “I understand. It really was nice to meet you. I’m sorry that it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

“So am I. But it’s good having someone I _know_ I can trust in this castle at last.”

Hera smiled, and just as she was about to leave, remembered something. “Oh! The princess gave me something else to give to you.”

He stepped toward her, outstretching one hand. “What else have you brought me, Miss Mirabilis?”

With a pretty laugh, she took his arm and drew him in for a hug. “She says _stay out of trouble and wait for me, moron._ ” Hera tried to make the ‘moron’ sound as fond as Renée had when she said it.

He hugged her back, holding her as tightly as a lifeline. “She would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lottie (goldtreesilvertree) here on your Tuesday update! We love hearing all your comments and questions more than Hera loves her new job. All comments receive enthusiastic squeeing from both me and Ada, and this chapter it's my turn to reply to you all! 
> 
> Coming up on Friday: a wedding, a secret meeting, and stormclouds brewing in the Citadel of the Wolf.


	6. v: the heart is hard to translate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And meanwhile, what are Mr Cutter’s elite, intelligent agents doing? Dreaming of dragons and flirting with every fae-blessed brat that wanders in from the cold!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "All This and Heaven Too", by Florence and the Machine.

_Thank the gods that’s over_. Renée watched the door shut behind the last of the courtiers, and collapsed back against the pillows in relief. If she could have picked one word to describe her wedding day, _embarrassing_ wouldn’t cover it. And it wasn’t over yet. At some point, she was going to actually have to talk to the woman in bed beside her. Her _wife_. The thought felt bizarre, even in the context of how ridiculous her life had recently become. Unfortunately, she didn’t think pretending to be asleep would get her out of this situation.

Isabel surprised her by speaking first. “Do you - uh. Do you have enough of the blanket?”

“I have plenty.” Just as well, given that the nights were unseasonably chilly. “Do you want another pillow?” Talking to Isabel was frequently infuriating, but it had never been _awkward_ before.

“No, no, I’m good.” Isabel tapped her hip as she stared up at the canopy of the bed. “Weird day, right?”

“Mm, the weirdest I’ve had so far.” Maybe she could get through this if she never actually had to make eye contact with Isabel? “How do you think they managed to pull such a crowd together on such short notice?”

“I imagine someone put the word out that you were wearing a _dress_ , and they all wanted to see if it was true.”

Renée elbowed her without looking at her. “Says the woman who was _also_ wearing a dress. You _looked_ about as uncomfortable as I felt.”

“Hah.” Isabel cleared her throat. “You looked nice, actually.” It was true. A few of the men and women in their camp, bereft of anything else to do, had all but kidnapped Minkowski and decked her red hair out with purple and white flowers, and put her in a simple but sweet white dress. Isabel had felt clumsy standing next to her, and Isabel Lovelace _never_ felt clumsy.

“So did you.” Though she’d never thought to see Lovelace decked out in _ribbons_ , the gold had glowed like sunlight threaded through the midnight-black of her hair. “How _did_ you convince them to let you wear a sword at the altar? I was told it would be ‘inappropriate for the occasion.’”

“By having a sword and being me,” Isabel smirked. “Actually, I told them it was symbolic of how I would protect my new wife.”

“That’s _adorable_ .” For all that her tone was sarcastic, the thought _was_ endearing. “And that really worked? Your attendants must _never_ have seen us arguing.”

“I _am_ going to protect you,” Isabel said defensively. “Why do you think I’m doing all of this?”

“For a _political alliance?_ ” The words had made perfect sense, even at the time. They still stung.

Isabel sighed, and rolled over, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Minkowski. They made eye contact for the first time since their vassals had left the ceremonial witnessing of the marriage bed. “You’re still sore about that,” she stated.

“ _No!_ ” Her defensive tone confirmed what she’d been trying to deny. “I mean - it made sense, but…”

“But I said it out of anger,” Isabel said. “I’m… sorry. But I promise, I only ever meant this in your best interests too. I’m going to get you your crown and your cousin back.” She smiled a little. “Call it a wedding gift.”

Renée couldn’t help but smile back. “Best wedding gift I could ever hope for.” She paused, biting her lip. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have accused you of abandoning your kingdom. _Our_ kingdom,” she corrected herself, “I know you’d’ve returned sooner if you’d had any choice.”

“Apology accepted.” Worried that they were going to lapse into an uncomfortable silence again, Isabel searched for another topic of conversation. “It really was a lovely ceremony,” she commented. “I only wish - “ she stopped, and then lay back down. “Nothing.”

Renée rolled to look at her properly. “What?” When the other woman didn’t immediately reply, she poked her gently, “Tell me?

_I wish my friends could have been there._ “Just that it would have been nice if Hera could have stayed,” she said brightly. “I know she’d have gotten a kick out of how awkward we were up there.”

“Can you even imagine? She’d’ve laughed the chapel down around our ears. If my cousin had been there, he probably would’ve helped her. Then all the nobles would have been running around in their best clothes like headless chickens, and we could’ve had some peace and quiet.” She paused, fidgeting with the blanket’s trim, then added, softly, “I wish our friends could have been there too. All of them.”

_Victoire would have loved the chance to dress up,_ Isabel thought morosely. _Kuan would have driven us all mad with his jokes, Mace would have made sure I didn’t fly off the handle, and Sam… Sam would have given the worst toast in the history of toasts, and I would have loved it. And Elias - no, not Elias._ For a moment she missed them all unbearably all over again, and then she shook herself. She had just gotten married. She was in bed with a princess, who had been looking prettier and prettier all day, and who she was ignoring to mope about the past.

“We’ll have a proper party once we liberate the kingdom,” Isabel said. “You can invite whoever you want.”

“Mm… if we have a party, there’ll have to be dancing. I warn you, I’m appalling. Eiffel refused to practice with me after I broke his toe by treading on him.” She studied the other woman’s face, hoping to coax one of her brilliant smiles out of hiding. “Still, it could be fun. A party, I mean. I never enjoyed them before, but now I’d kill to be at one of those endless, dull balls, full of snacks nobody sane would want to eat and men nobody sane would want to dance with. It would mean this was over. It would mean we were _safe._ ”

“I remember those,” Isabel said. “They were always parading out vapid princesses they thought I might want to marry. All I ever wanted to do was sneak out and get back to training.”

Minkowski laughed, “You have _no_ idea how many training dummies we went through after my father decided I was old enough to attend. Eiffel thought it was _hilarious_ , but he was always better at parties than me. It’s just as well Father hadn’t started pining for grandchildren when… well…”

_And we’re back to death again._ “I bet you broke a few prince’s hearts,” Isabel said, teasingly. “What about your cousin? Is he married?”

“Eiffel? No,” she shook her head, smiling, “He tends to favour… unsuitable people. There was a girl, a while ago, but… that didn’t end well for anyone involved. The lady and their daughter included. They’ve been in hiding ever since.” She’d _liked_ Kate, and had only really started speaking to her cousin again a couple of  months before all this. If she’d known what was coming, she would have made it up sooner. She would have done a lot of things differently.

“I didn’t know you have a niece?”

She smiled in spite of the darkness that surrounded her memories of Anne. “She’s wonderful. Even more charming than my cousin, though don’t tell him I said that, but she got her brains from her mama. Or from me, I suppose. She’s a good kid. I still miss her.”

Isabel liked the smile Renée wore when she talked about her family. “You’ll see them all again soon. We should get some sleep. Busy days ahead.”

“Busy days,” she agreed, rolling over to blow the candle out. There was a moment of silence. Then: “Isabel?”

The darkness only served to remind her how physically close she was to the other woman. She was suddenly hyper-aware of her breathing, of the way one of her legs was pressing against Renée’s. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For saying you’d protect me, I mean. Not that I need protecting but-” She realised she was rambling. “Anyway, thank you.” On impulse, she rolled closer, and kissed the other woman on the cheek. “Goodnight, Isabel.”

Isabel was very glad that the candle had been snuffed out. It wouldn’t do for the once and future queen to be seen blushing.

*

Jacobi typically made a point of walking past Maxwell’s office before visiting Eiffel. Not to check up on her, exactly, but in case they needed to talk. The corridor was usually empty, and so he wasn’t expecting it when a tiny, white-haired woman with her arms full of scrolls almost barged into him.

Nor did he expect her to _snap_ at him: “Watch where you’re going!”

He bristled, although she didn’t look particularly intimidating. He wasn’t a tall man, but she was practically half his size. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing coming out of Maxwell’s office?”

She sniffed disdainfully, “ _I_ am Dr Maxwell’s assistant, and I have every right to be here. Who are _you,_ and why don’t you watch where you’re walking?”

“Watch your tone.” He looked her up and down; braided white hair, silver eyes, skinny and slightly bruised. Could have been in her early twenties, but somehow looked both younger and older than Maxwell, the only woman he had to compare her to. “Alana hired an assistant? She always was easily taken in by a pretty face. Daniel Jacobi,” he introduced himself. “Kepler’s second-in-command.” He let that sink in.

She looked utterly unruffled, “ _You’re_ Sir Jacobi? Surprised you’re not in more of a hurry, the colonel was just in here looking for you.” A smug little smile crept onto her lips, “He did _not_ look happy.”

Jacobi cursed. “When does he ever? Get where you’re going, then.” He stormed the opposite way, making a mental note to upbraid Alana about her choice of assistants if he survived the day. Little brat. He had to pause before entering Kepler’s office. Storming in and slamming the door would probably _not_ do anything for his temper, if he was already in a bad mood. When he did open the door, his master was, as always, inscrutable. He sat comfortably at his desk and regarded Jacobi with storm-grey eyes. He didn’t _look_ angry, but that seldom meant much.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I did.” His tone was almost indistinguishable from his usual speech, but Jacobi felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Something was _very_ wrong. “What can you tell me about _this_?” He pulled a small object out of the drawer of his desk and placed it in front of Jacobi. It was a child’s doll, well-made but obviously well-loved. Someone’s favourite toy, perhaps.

He felt himself frown. As always, Kepler had pulled out the last thing he was expecting. “It’s… a doll, sir.”

“Yes, Daniel.” His voice was smooth and cold as steel. “It is a doll. And do you know who this doll belongs to?” Jacobi said nothing, but tried not to flinch when he slammed a fist down on the table between them hard enough to shake it. “ _Your_ prince’s fucking _daughter._ Care to explain why apparently the whole palace knew about her apart from me?”

“I…” Jacobi stared at in in poorly-disguised horror. _I don’t want to know,_ he’d said. Fuck it _all,_ why had he done that? What made him think he had any business protecting a prince? “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what - “

“No, I’ve heard enough _excuses_ from you about the prince recently. Now’s the time for an _explanation._ ”

“I never claimed to be a master interrogator,” Jacobi said weakly, trying to resist the urge to summon a flame for protection. “I wasn’t keeping it from you, I didn’t _know._ I never keep anything from you, you know that.”

“No, I _knew_ that. Now…” He leaned forward over the desk, “Now, I have my doubts. You tell me you’ve spent every day with the prince, that you’re bringing everything you hear right back to me. But not a whisper about his little girl?”

“I…” He’d known. Unconsciously, anyway, part of him had known. He’d just wanted to avoid this. “What do you want me to say?”

Kepler stood, suddenly, shoving his chair back with a bang. “Tell me you would have told me if you’d known. Tell me you’re not questioning your loyalty.” He paused, but not for long enough for Jacobi to speak. “Or are you growing _attached_ to the prince? Is this why you made so much fuss when I gave you your assignment? One smile from him and you forget everything I’ve done for you?” He walked slowly around the desk, still not raising his voice. Jacobi almost wished he would.

He swallowed. There was no point in lying. “All right, I’m attracted to him,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know about the daughter, and I would _never go against you._ I swear, on…” he searched for something more important to him than Kepler’s trust. “On, Gods, I don’t know, my sword. My magic. _Anything_ I hold dear.”

Kepler leaned closer, closer, cold eyes scanning every inch of Jacobi’s face. “Don’t forget who you belong to, Daniel,” he said, voice soft, almost the purr of some great cat. He paused, and it was as if Jacobi could hear his own heart begin to race simply due to their _proximity_. Then he closed the distance, capturing Jacobi’s lips with his own.

It wasn’t a loving kiss - and yes, despite what people thought of him, he _had_ received loving kisses from his master. This was a brutal display of dominance: all teeth and tongue. The back of Jacobi’s head hit the wall, and he pulled away for the briefest of seconds to lick away a thin trickle of blood from his lip before submitting again. He tried to give as good as he got but he was in no way a match for Kepler’s strength, for the man’s hand holding his wrists over his head, the other at his throat. The way they both liked it. By the time Kepler finally released him to catch his breath, he could barely remember his _own_ name, let alone the prince’s.

Kepler, of course, composed himself in a heartbeat, while Jacobi gasped as he leaned against the wall. “He’s nothing,” Jacobi said after a few ragged breaths. “I mean it. Order me to do anything, I don’t care. Just believe me.” He could live without the harmless flirtation that had been brightening his dull days. He didn’t think he could live without Kepler’s trust, and at that moment, couldn’t remember or even imagine why he’d jeopardised that.

Kepler ran a calloused thumb over the cut on his lower lip, and smiled. “Just remember you’re _mine_ , angel. Now, fly off to your target, and bring me back something useful _._ ”

Storm over, (he hoped), Jacobi chanced a smirk. “I like your new disciplinary measures, _colonel._ Do I get kissed like that again if I fail?”

Kepler’s eyes turned to ice. “Get back to your assignment, _Sir_ Jacobi. I won’t be so _patient_ next time you fail me. Now. Get. _Out_.”

*

“ _Finally!_ One of you people is where you’re _supposed_ to be!” Alana started at the unexpected sight of an angry Hilbert in her office. They’d had little cause to interact before. “ _Sir_ Jacobi is ‘busy with his duties’, and your commander is missing from his post! How am I supposed to _run_ this place? First the princess escapes after I practically handed her to you, and now my collaborators are _vanishing_ too!”

Alana’s gaze turned to ice. “Get out, _knock,_ and don’t presume to raise your voice at me again.”

“ _Don’t_ think you can tell me what to do in my own kingdom, _girl._ I’ve been here longer than you can imagine, and I’m not about to let you all destroy my work because the colonel and the sorcerer are busy with their ridiculous games and _you’re_ distracted from finding the princess by dragons and your new… _assistant._ ” He glared at Hera.

“I think Lady Alana asked you to knock,” Hera said primly.

“I don’t have time for your frivolous concerns. Have you seen _this?_ ” He slammed a sheet of parchment down on the table. It was a proclamation announcing the marriage of Queen Isabel Lovelace and… “Princess Renée Minkowski. Remember her, _Dr_ Maxwell? Or has your latest _distraction_ driven all thought of your _actual_ mission out of your head?!”

“Careful, doctor,” Maxwell said, glaring. “Just because you don’t _understand_ the complicated work I do, doesn’t mean it’s not _important._ ”

“What’s _important_ is that the princess you were meant to capture not only continues to run about the kingdom unimpeded, she’s _married_ some jumped-up pretender claiming to be _Isabel Lovelace!_ You might not be familiar with stories of her, but the people of this kingdom certainly are, and they’re _thrilled_ . I’ve heard 5 different ballads on _The Wedding of Minkowski and Lovelace_ this week alone. We can’t keep this quiet, even if we execute the rumour-mongers along with the over-zealous loyalists. We will lose this war before they set foot in this city if someone doesn’t stop them soon! And meanwhile, what are Mr Cutter’s _elite, intelligent_ agents doing? Dreaming of dragons and _flirting_ with every fae-blessed brat that wanders in from the cold!”

Hera bristled, and was about to lunge at him for his insolence when she remembered she was supposed to be a frail young woman. She settled for glaring daggers at him instead, and waited for Alana to tear him down.

“You will apologise to my assistant in a moment,” Maxwell said coolly. “But first, let me tell you a little secret, _chancellor_. I’ve spent some time looking into the history of Hephaestus, and some… _interesting_ anomalies have appeared. Dmitri Vologin. Elias Selberg. Koschei the Deathless. Alexander _Hilbert_. I could go on, but I’m _sure_ you get my gist.” She smiled as she watched him pale. “The interesting thing is, whenever you show up, _something_ exciting happens. Empires fall. Dynasties collapse. You’re a bad omen, _doctor_ , and one it would be smart to dispose of. So don’t you dare storm in here demanding to know what _I’m_ doing behind closed doors.”

She watched his hands curl into fists. “You would be… unwise to make an enemy of me, Lady Alana.”

“I could say the same to you. Now you owe Hera an apology, and me some _peace and quiet._ ”

He turned to Hera slowly. “I… apologise, _Miss_ Hera. I will leave you both to your… studies.”

He did not slam the door behind him, and Alana sat back in her chair, satisfied.

Hera smiled shyly at her. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have had the courage to dress him down like that.”

Her _delightful_ assistant had not deserved to witness that scene, let alone be dragged into it. “You don’t need to worry about him. I’ll keep you out of his way, and he has no power over _my_ assistant, anyway.” She returned Hera’s smile, and watched the girl blush adorably.

“Your assistant is going to fetch you some tea as a thank-you,” Hera informed her. It would be a good chance to check on Eiffel - she was usually with Alana every minute of the day. “You stay there. Is there anything else you need while I’m up?”

Alana stretched, realising with a start that neither of them had eaten yet that day, unless Hera was a _very_ early riser. “Some lunch, perhaps? Pick something you’d like and tell the kitchen staff to bring it up, we can eat together when you get back.”

Hera smiled even brighter. “I’d like that. I won’t be long.” She left the room and hurried down the corridors to Eiffel’s quarters, where, as luck would have it, the guards were in the middle of changing shifts. She slipped in unnoticed, and then knocked.

“At _last!_ ” He threw the door open and nearly walked into Hera. He immediately lowered his voice. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but I wasn’t expecting you at this time of day.”

“Lunch break,” Hera informed him. “Were you expecting Jacobi? I saw him sulking somewhere in the vicinity of the training yard earlier.”

“At least _someone’s_ seen him. He’s been off doing _something_ for the past two days. I thought I was making progress with him, but he’s just disappeared. I’m starting to get claustrophobic, stuck in here all day.” He exhaled loudly, “It’s good to have some company at last. Any news I should know about?”

Hera bit her lip. “You haven’t seen him in two days? Then you haven’t heard…”

He narrowed his eyes, “Heard _what?_ What have they done now? More executions? Fighting in the streets? It’s not like things could get much more tense.”

“Sit down,” she instructed, remembering how fragile humans could be when they were surprised. “I’m sorry, I thought he would have come here to tell you.”

He sat, though she could tell he’d rather pace from the anxious fidgeting. “Tell me _what?_ Hera, you’re making me nervous.”

“Oh, Eiffel…” Hera sighed. “Nothing’s _happened,_ technically. But I’m afraid Kepler found out about your daughter.”

He paled. “No. No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening. She was supposed to be _safe_ , I promised Kate she’d be _away_ from all this…”

Hera spread out her hands, trying to calm him down. “She’s safe! As far as I can tell, no-one in the palace will even tell him her _name._ He doesn’t know where she is.”

He sighed. “Thank Rhea for that at least. But now he knows… And Jacobi didn’t bother to _tell_ me? What’s he even been _doing_ for the past two days?! What does he _ever_ do that isn’t _bothering me?!_ ”

Hera winced slightly, remembering Kepler’s thunderous expression when he’d found the doll. “Jacobi’s been volunteering for a lot of border patrols, wall guards, that kind of thing. Trying to get out of the Colonel’s line of sight. Kepler was… _extremely displeased_ that Jacobi didn’t tell him about Anne. Did he know about her?” she asked, voicing a worry that she and Maxwell had discussed the night before. It was the first time Hera had ever witnessed one of Kepler’s famous explosions, and she’d ducked out from where she and Maxwell had been working nearby just before a messenger ran off to find Jacobi.

Eiffel clenched and unclenched his fists. The important thing was that _Anne was safe_. But… he remembered the bruise. He remembered _don’t tell me_ , and the door slamming shut between them. He might not like the man, but _nobody_ deserved to be on the wrong side of that bastard’s temper. He realised Hera was staring at him, waiting for some kind of response. “I… I don’t know if he knew,” he admitted. “I didn’t tell him, but there were moments when he might have guessed there was _something_ awry. How did he seem to you when you saw him today?” He hoped he sounded disinterested.

“Quiet,” Hera said, trying to remember exactly. “He was walking a little stiffly yesterday, and there was a cut on his lip. Maxwell tried to talk to him at breakfast, but he brushed her off and left early. Today I’ve been busy, I only happened to see him when I glanced out the window.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He was out and about, at least.And Jacobi didn’t bother to  _tell_ me? What’s he even been  _doing_ for the past two days?! What does he  _ever_ do that isn’t  _bothering me?!_ ” Not that that should mean anything to Eiffel, who hadn’t been outside his quarters in two days. “So he’s fine,” he said, at last, not entirely certain about that statement, “What about you? How are you holding up with Lady Alana? They say she’s clever, has she given you any trouble?”

“Oh,” Hera said, caught off-guard at the question. “Alana’s… great, actually! She thinks she’s teaching me a lot. It’s very sweet.” At the mention of their work, Hera slapped her forehead. “Oh no, I’ve been away for _ages,_ I was meant to be getting tea. I’m sorry, I have to go. You understand.”

He nodded, and gave her a quick hug. “Be safe,” he muttered into her hair, before releasing her.

“I hope you get out soon,” Hera said as she left. “If I see Jacobi, I’ll send him your way.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday, it's Ada here, and this is one of my very favourite chapters. If you enjoyed that Kepcobi kiss, (I know I enjoyed writing it), check out "something enchanted (extras)" for... bonus content. See you on Tuesday, and don't forget to leave us your thoughts! We love hearing from you.


	7. vi: a flame in your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who said I was trying to teach you about _fire?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, everybody enjoys an evening of (relative) quiet under the stars. Featuring moonlit 'walks', the Picnic Scene, and Jacobi's stupid sarcastic face.

Jacobi arrived twelve hours later, with a bulging satchel and a sheepish smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, as if it had been mere minutes instead of _two days._ Two very boring days.

Eiffel didn’t look up from his book. “Late? I hadn’t noticed.”

Jacobi’s smile was fixed on his face like a mask. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, if you’ll only come with me.”

He turned the next page of his book, not really reading it. “Hmm, thanks but no thanks. Wouldn’t want you to be tired for _border patrol_ tomorrow. Can’t have my cousin sneaking in to rescue me, right?”

Amused: “Don’t be jealous. Come on, I got a horse ready and everything.” After he got no reply, Daniel brought out his ace. “Well, I _thought_ you might want to get outside of the citadel walls for an hour or two…”

The book slammed shut as Eiffel got to his feet. “Fine. Anything’s better than being stuck in this room.”

“That’s the spirit. Now walk quietly, I didn’t exactly get a sanction for this.” That was a barefaced lie; he’d just come from Kepler’s personal rooms, where he’d meticulously run his plan for the evening by the colonel, but Eiffel didn’t need to know that.

Eiffel fell into step behind him as they left, a veteran at sneaking out through matching the footsteps of the guards. “Where are we going?” he muttered, once they were out in the open air of the courtyard, away from the echoing corridors of the castle.

“The stables, first,” Jacobi said as they neared the grounds. He made a soft clicking noise with his tongue at a beautiful, highly groomed black horse. “Here, girl. Come here, Urania.” He patted the horse’s nose fondly once she’d trotted over. “I hope you won’t mind if I sit up front,” he said to Eiffel. “She can be skittish around strangers - well, anyone who isn’t me, Alana, or the colonel.”

“It’s fine, I’m good with horses.” His tone was still careless, but he approached her with the careful movements of an experienced rider. He held out a hand to her, which she sniffed surprisingly _without_ biting. “Hey, Urania. You won’t mind me, will you?”

Jacobi swung himself up onto the saddle, and waited for Eiffel to do the same.

He paused. “Can she carry two?”

“Easily,” Jacobi said. “She’s very strong, aren’t you, girl? Finest horse in Goddard’s stables. Come on, I won’t bite.”

He swung up behind him easily, unbothered by Urania’s dancing. “Such a clever girl, aren’t you?” he murmured, stroking her flank. Jacobi could feel his breath ghost past the back of his neck, for once unarmoured.

“You’ll want to hold on,” he said, as indifferently as he could manage. “She’s faster than any horse you’ve ever ridden, once she gets going.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Eiffel replied nonchalantly, but he gasped and wrapped his arms tightly around Jacobi’s chest as they took off at a gallop. “You weren’t joking.”

“I never joke,” Jacobi called back teasingly. The early winter wind whipped past them as they made short work of clearing the citadel. It was late enough that very few people were about on the streets, and there was no-one to be seen once they flew past the woods. Jacobi slowed Urania down at a meadow bank near a stream, a pretty spot he’d noticed on patrol earlier.

“I figured as you hadn’t had much fresh air for few days, you deserved a proper run out,” he said, sounding as apologetic as he could manage. “Look, trees and everything.”

“Trees and everything,” Eiffel echoed, gazing around the clearing. It was annoyingly perfect. Perfect silvery grass, perfectly shimmering water, perfect starlight falling onto Jacobi’s annoyingly perfect cheekbones. Nobody should be allowed to look that good after making someone so angry.

Jacobi jumped down, and offered a hand to help Eiffel dismount. Eiffel rolled his eyes and slid down next to him. The satchel he’d brought held one bottle of cordial and another of wine, and some food from the kitchens. He dumped it on a patch of grass, and sat down, facing the stream.

“It’s… pretty,” Eiffel admitted, begrudgingly. The entire _scene_ was pretty. _Romantic,_ even. Shame Jacobi was going to ruin it all with his stupid sarcastic _face_.

“It is,” Jacobi agreed. “I’m not usually one for _pretty,_ but... “ he shrugged. “It’s as nice a place to apologise as any.”

Eiffel, still standing, folded his arms. “I don’t see what you’re apologising to _me_ for. I’m not in charge of you. You were just _doing your duty,_ after all.”

“Yes, but - “ Jacobi broke off, trying not to get annoyed. “Look, I’m trying my best here, all right? You don’t have to be so difficult.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m _sorry_ I wasn’t the one to tell you about.. your daughter. Alana’s assistant really went to town on me, by the way. You’ve got a fan, there.” He’d actually only received a passing comment from Hera, but it had still surprised him - she usually stayed far out of his way after their first encounter, and being from out of town, she had no reason to particularly favour Eiffel.

Eiffel shrugged, trying not to panic. “Everybody loves a damsel in distress, apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ the kid.”

“Really? She described you pretty accurately when she was telling me how sad you looked,” Jacobi laughed, keeping the tone light and nonchalant. He wanted Eiffel to feel comfortable, but he wasn’t sure how to go about that any more, worried as he was about having lost the uneasy camaraderie between them.

“You know, one of the problems with being royalty is that _everyone_ knows how you look. She’s probably seen you around me and her imagination ran away with her. You should tell your friend to keep a closer eye on her assistant, or she’ll be spreading stories of our _tragic_ falling-out all over the castle by next sunset.” Gods, he hoped Hera didn’t end up in trouble for this. “Kids like that see intrigue everywhere.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” Jacobi said. “I can’t stand the little brat. Gods only know why Alana’s keeping her around.” He watched carefully for Eiffel’s reaction as he insulted Hera.

Eiffel shrugged, trying to ignore the dig at his only friend in the castle. “Maybe she needs the company, if you’ve been swanning around on _border patrol_ so often.” He sat down on the grass with a thump. “You want to eat? Let’s eat.”

“Hardly swanning,” Jacobi said, a little miffed, handing him a roll from the satchel. “Avoiding Kepler, more like.” He wondered if Eiffel still felt any sympathy towards him. “He’s, uh. He’s not been happy.” Jacobi had barely escaped the last morning’s sparring session without a broken bone. They always trained hard, but he was still in the doghouse and no mistake.

Eiffel looked at him sidelong. He couldn’t _see_ any bruises, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “That bad?” he said. He’d meant to ask lightly, but his voice came out irritatingly soft. Not that he cared what Jacobi thought of it.

“I didn’t tell him about your daughter,” Jacobi said, looking up at the stars instead of Eiffel. “That was an unforgivable error in his eyes. Well, almost. I’m still here.”

“I noticed.” Eiffel didn’t like to think about what that meant. “I know you didn’t tell him. The entire palace has been talking about your little… spat.” It felt wrong to dismiss it as a mere _spat_. It felt equally wrong to sympathise with a man he _knew_ to be on the wrong side of this war.

Jacobi chuckled. “Gossip-starved peasants. Where we’re from, it wouldn’t have made it to the breakfast table.” Kepler and Jacobi’s _spats,_ when they were having a real argument and not just a one-sided disciplinary session, were legendary at Goddard and usually resulted in more than a few singed rooms. Legend turned to old news very quickly, and now all it usually merited was a roll of Alana’s eyes and a “ _they’re at it again._ ” Back when they’d worked together well enough to argue and survive it, anyway. The Kingdom of Hephaestus had changed a lot of that.

“Well, it’s news here. Everything you lot _do_ is news here. You’ve turned our kingdom on its head, you know that, right?” He ripped out a handful of grass. “Apparently, because of your little coup, I’ve missed my cousin’s wedding.” He tried to keep his tone flippant. There was no way Kepler hadn’t heard of the marriage by now, right?

“Now, Eiffel,” Jacobi said, looking at him interestedly. “I haven’t brought you any news in two days. Who could have told you that? Who’s been telling you… _anything?_ ”

That was an easy one to rebuff. “Guards talk. Servants talk. _Everyone_ talks when a queen rises from the dead and marries the heiress-apparent, and you might have noticed that the citadel has a _lot_ of echoes. You can hear a lot of things, standing in the right place.” Every word he’d said was entirely true. Minkowski and he had used that trick to their advantage to overhear conversations they weren’t supposed to be privy to when they were kids.

Jacobi switched his smile from interested to charming, almost harmless. “Oh, I know. But it was worth a try, wasn’t it? I have to at least _pretend_ I know how to interrogate someone.”

Eiffel lay back on the grass, refusing to look at the smirk he _knew_ would have worked its way onto Jacobi’s lips. “Is that what you’re doing now? _Pretending_ to interrogate me? Let’s just be honest with each other. We’ll have a delightful picnic tonight. Drinking wine; well, I don’t drink, but I appreciate the thought. Looking at the stars. Talking. Maybe you’ll even show me a few tricks.” He snapped his fingers. “And the minute we set foot in that castle again, we’ll go right back to being prisoner and guard and you’ll go running back to your _bastard_ of a master to tell him all you know. Sound about right?”

Jacobi bristled. “Don’t call him that.”

“Fine. You’ll go running back to _your glorious leader_ and hope next time he doesn’t take it out on you when he loses his temper. Never mind there’s _nothing_ he could have done to be worth your loyalty. Fairer description?”

“Maybe I like it when he takes it out on me,” Jacobi said coldly. “You don’t know a thing about me, _your highness_. But you know what? I _didn’t tell him about her._ I could have. You were _obviously_ going to let it slip, and I asked you not to tell me, remember? So you can climb down off your high horse and remember that I’m trying to keep you safe.” He took a deep swig of wine from the bottle he’d brought. His plan to remain charming and friendly in a desperate attempt to get something to bring back to Kepler was quickly unravelling, as he’d suspected it would. “Fuck knows why.”

“Isn’t that going against your interests? It’s not your _job_ to keep me safe.” Eiffel was fairly sure it was his job to win his trust any way he could. It wasn’t going to stop him trying to play the same game.

“ _I know,_ ” Jacobi snapped. “I know,” he said again, a little more softly. “I don’t have to be a monster all of the time.”

“You don’t _have_ to be a monster at all. You could be better, if you wanted to.” It was a risky move, but sometimes a little faith at a time paid off. His cousin and uncle had taught him that long ago.

“But I don’t want to,” Jacobi replied immediately. “I like it. I’m _good_ at it - like, really good. Sometimes I take a night off, sure, but you can’t change who you are. I can’t change what I’ve done.”

“And you think a monster is who you are?”

Jacobi clicked his fingers. “We have a winner. Let’s get a prize for the smart boy.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, abandoning the idea of getting information that night completely. “Come on, don’t spend the whole night arguing with me. We might not get another ‘night off’ for a while.”

Eiffel took a mouthful of the roll he was holding, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m not spending the _whole_ night arguing with you. Sometimes, I’m eating.”

Laughing, Jacobi put down his bottle and readjusted his position. “Fair enough. Are you cold?” He ticked off a list on his fingers. “Delightful picnic, stars, talking… I owe you a trick now, right?”

“I’m not cold,” Eiffel said, but gave a shiver that was only half-faked and had nothing to do with the breeze.

“Mm-hmm,” Jacobi laughed again, habitual smirk back in place. He cleared a space in front of them and raised up a small but roaring campfire, letting it hover slightly in the air so as not to burn the grass. “Better?”

Eiffel leaned closer to the fire - and Jacobi. “Much.”

He flickered his fingers and the flames danced into pleasing shapes, showing off in a way he hadn’t done since he performed tricks for coins in taverns. It was nice to have an audience who wasn’t more concerned with how much violence he could enact in the shortest space of time.

Eiffel watched, mesmerised in spite of himself. “That’s… incredible. How can you make such beautiful things and still insist you’re a monster?”

“It’s still fire, Eiffel.” He let the flames fall back into place before they did something embarrassing like form a love-heart or a dove. Fire had a sense of humour.

“Just because something’s dangerous doesn’t make it inherently bad. We need fire to light our homes, cook our food, warm our children. It demands respect. It doesn’t need to be feared.”

Jacobi looked at him in silence for a moment, and then held his flesh-and-blood hand out to take Eiffel’s wrist. Slowly, he brought his hand up until Eiffel was forced to touch the burn scars on his face. He kept his voice neutral, but the gaze he directed at the other man was intense. “I don’t need _you_ to teach me about fire.”

Eiffel held his gaze steadily, his hand unmoving. “Who said I was trying to teach you about _fire?_ ”

Jacobi dropped his hand, but Eiffel stayed where he was, thumb rubbing soft circles on the scarred cheekbone. Not even Kepler touched his burns, if he could help it, but Eiffel was nearly cupping his face in his hands. “This is a terrible idea,” Jacobi murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, but he didn’t move away. He still didn’t draw back when Eiffel leaned forward and kissed him, chastely, just brushing his lips with his own.

Jacobi had never thought that a monster could be kissed so gently, as soft and sweet as starlight.

*

Minkowski’s hair glowed like the embers of the dying fire, spread out across the pile of hay sacks that currently served them as both throne and couch. They probably should have withdrawn to their tent already, but for once, the circle of firelight was peaceful, and they were alone within it.

“What are you thinking about?” Renée spoke suddenly, breaking the silence without opening her eyes.

Isabel had been thinking about running her fingers through that hair, but would have rather died again than say it out loud. “Tomorrow’s journey,” she yawned. “Running through plans in my head. You know.”

“I can hear you ‘running through plans in your head’ from over here. Do you have to think so loudly?” She sat up and stretched, arching her back towards the heat of the fire. “How can you _sleep_ with so much going on in your head?”

“I never sleep,” Isabel teased. “Too busy.” She liked Renée like this, sleepy and comfortable. She imagined endless mornings waking up to that soft smile from her wife, and then remembered that her ‘wife’ wasn’t really hers at all.

Still, there it was: that smile, “Of course not. The once and future queen has no need for sleep like the rest of us mere mortals.”

“I slept for three hundred years, princess. That would be enough for _anyone._ ” In fact, she’d always been something of an insomniac. Sam used to fuss when he found her wandering the corridors of the palace at night... She was doing it again. Isabel cleared her throat. “Are you cold? Would you rather go inside?”

She shook her head. “I’m not cold. I’m with you.” But she took the question as an invitation, and wriggled closer to Isabel’s side until she could almost lean against her shoulder. Almost, but not quite. “I… don’t really like sleeping under a roof any more.”

“I noticed you picked the same tower that I did for your bedroom,” Isabel said, wondering if the other woman was going to bridge the millimetres in between them or if she herself would dare to do it. “High up among the stars.”

Renée tilted her head to look up at her. “I used to think the same thing. I _loved_ it up there, just me and the starlight.” She looked down, and Isabel realised her hands had curled into fists. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep in there again. Those _bastards_ took it from me just as they took everything else. My father, my castle…” She picked up a twig and jabbed at the flickering embers, creating a flurry of sparks. “You probably think I’m being a child for complaining they ruined a _room_ for me.”

“No, no, I understand.” Isabel leaned back and looked up at the same stars she used to gaze at when _she’d_ lived in that tower. “I loved that room. Sometimes…” she paused, and then continued. “It was the highest room in the palace, so sometimes Kuan and Victoire would barge in there with their telescopes and their star charts, and I’d pretend to be annoyed, and we’ll all spend the night stargazing until Sam whined that we weren’t getting enough sleep and we’d be unbearable the next day.” There was a moment of silence as Minkowski listened to her trail off. “Uh, I don’t know if you know who… were they in your stories?” Isabel thought back to her friends; the truest, noblest people she’d ever known. “They should have been. People should remember them.”

“They were there. All of them. Elias Selberg, Sam Lambert, Kuan Hui, Mace Fisher. Victoire Fourier.” The last, according to history, had been more than Isabel’s friend. “I don’t know if it’s much consolation but… because of you, their names have been remembered for three hundred years.” She paused, then continued: “After… after my mother died, I didn’t want to read the stories any more. It hurt too much. But my cousin dragged up all the books - they were almost bigger than him, he was tiny then - and read them to me. Said if I stopped caring about all these histories, who else would carry on?”

Isabel smiled. “Victoire would have liked that, to know she was in a child’s favourite book. She loved to read. So much so that she had to wear these funny little glasses… she hated them, thought they made her look old, but she was beautiful.”

_Of course she’d been beautiful._ Somehow, though no portraits of Victoire Fourier had survived, Renée had known she’d been beautiful. And to Isabel, she’d only died… weeks ago? It was no wonder she hadn’t been enthused about their marriage. The least she could do was to let her talk about the woman she’d lost. “What was she like? The stories talk about her as the cleverest of your knights, but I always wanted to know more.”

“Victoire? Gods, I can’t do her justice. I couldn’t for any of them.” Isabel sighed, and settled back on their makeshift seat, making herself more comfortable. “Cleverest is right. Brighter than Kuan, even, and they were both stars ahead of anyone else. She could be irritable; she’d give him hell when he was late to observe some rare astronomical event, and Gods help you if you moved her things around. But she could also be very kind. Soft-spoken. And…” Isabel searched for something else in her memories. All she could remember at the moment was the way she’d died. For her, it really hadn’t been so long ago. “She had beautiful hair. Long, chestnut brown, always tied up to keep it out of her eyes. When she was concentrating hard she would twirl it around her fingers until it was full of knots.” _That was always how you knew she was stressed_ , Isabel remembered.

“She sounds… wonderful. I don’t think the history books I read described her as well as you did.” It was monstrous to be jealous of a dead woman, especially when sitting beside someone who had clearly loved her so dearly. That didn’t change anything.

“They were all wonderful,” Isabel sighed. “They should have had long, happy lives together. It’s my fault they didn’t.”

Renée felt her heart break a little at these words. Gently, she rested her hand atop Isabel’s, and, when she didn’t pull away, entwined their fingers. “You couldn’t change what happened. A thousand historians refought the Battle of Camlann and still concluded you made the best choice you could.” The only historians worth mentioning, anyway. “One day, when we’re done with this war, you can tell me everything about them. We’ll make sure they’re remembered as they were. As they deserve to be.”

Isabel thought that would be… nice, but somehow not enough. She wanted to remember things that hadn’t happened. She wanted to be able to remember Victoire and Kuan’s wedding, their children, the manuscripts they should have published together. Fisher’s husband… she’d _promised_ Cory that she would bring him home safe. She wanted to remember his homecoming. Sam’s long histories and scrolls of their glorious battle cluttering up her quarters. All the midsummer celebrations they should have had together. All the things that never happened, because she lead these beautiful, brave individuals to their deaths.

It was only when a gentle hand touched her face to wipe away her tears that Isabel realised she was crying. It was the first time she had cried since Camlann.

Renée wanted to draw her close, to kiss her until the tears left her and then keep kissing her until the sun rose. But it wouldn’t be right, to take away her first chance to grieve her lost friends. To grieve _Victoire._ So instead, she knelt up on the pillows and pressed her forehead against Isabel’s, still cupping her face with one hand. She didn’t say anything more.

*

Hera’s hair was escaping its braids again, as it always managed to by this point in the evening. The candle stubs were burning low, and Alana wanted nothing more than to comb them out for her, letting the curls twine around her fingers- all of which were very inappropriate things to be thinking about her _assistant_.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Hera smiled, looking up at her.

Alana couldn’t help but return her smile. “Nothing important. I was just wondering if you were tired.” _And if you’d like me to help you- nope, not thinking about that._ “You work so hard, after all. You don’t _have_ to keep my ridiculous hours.”

Hera laughed prettily, setting down her book. “It doesn’t _feel_ like hard work.” It really wasn’t. In fact, it was rather fun to read basic texts about herself, not that Alana knew that. “I like staying up with you. Unless you’d rather be alone…”

“No, no, of course not!” Alana had never met anyone whose company she preferred to isolation before, Jacobi excluded. “I just feel I’m taking advantage of your good nature, keeping you up like this,” She leaned over Hera’s shoulder, examining her work, “ _especially_ when you work so hard already.” She wondered if the claw marks were healing well. Would it be too personal to ask?

Hera leaned up slightly, letting her cheek brush Alana’s shoulder, knowing _exactly_ what it would do to the other woman. Isabel had never told her she couldn’t have _fun_ on her mission. “Why don’t we take a break, then?”

“You’ve certainly earned one,” Alana said, suddenly breathless. She stood back to allow her to get up, then resisted the urge to move back again. How was Hera _still_ close? She was not making it easy for Alana to be honourable about this…

Hera stood, and wondered what desperate measures she’d have to resort to to let Alana see how perfectly willing she was to be taken to bed. (Any bed, but Alana’s specifically. It was closest.) She’d found that humans could be very funny about inane courtship rituals. “You know, I’ve been sat down all day. I’m feeling a little... restless.”

She said _restless_ like she meant something entirely different. Which, of course, she didn’t. “We could go for a walk, if you like?” Alana hadn’t seen much of the palace gardens. Alana hadn’t seen much of the _palace,_ barring the areas she was already familiar with.

Hera nodded and replaced her smile after a slightly disappointed hesitation. “A walk sounds lovely. It’s meant to be a clear night, there’ll be a lot of stars out to look at,” she added, pointedly. Stargazing was romantic, right? Not quite the area she was heading towards, but it might be a good starting point.

“Some stargazing _would_ be lovely,” Alana agreed. Not that she was going to be looking at the _stars_ if this inconvenient mood continued. They left the palace, talking of nothing in particular and enjoying the quiet of the night. Passing by the stables, Alana noticed that Urania wasn’t tied to her usual spot. Strange.

Hera was right; it was a clear night, and the stars were out in abundance. The white of Hera’s hair also shone as she ran ahead, giggling, and perched on a stone parapet, letting her legs kick out underneath her. From there they had a gorgeous view of the kingdom.

Unfortunately for Alana, the kingdom had _nothing_ on her companion. “It’s beautiful up here,” she said, barely glancing at the view. She realised Hera’s eyelashes shone as silver as her hair, and then realised that Hera was looking up at her from _underneath_ them. She wondered if the younger woman had _any_ idea of the effect she was having on her.

She could have leaned over the parapet herself to catch her breath, to look at _anything_ other than the girl in front of her, but of course Hera managed to get there first. Somehow, Alana’s hands ended up either side of Hera’s hips, the other girl looking up at her with a smirk. She suddenly realised Hera knew _exactly_ what she’d been doing.

“I wasn’t going to fall,” Hera said, innocent as ever. She shimmied a little closer and batted those eyelashes again. “You’re so determined to protect me.”

Somewhere, the gods were laughing at her. Alana decided not to care, and leaned forward to kiss that coy little smirk off her assistant’s lips.

“ _Finally,_ ” Hera breathed against her neck, shivering deliciously. “I thought you were just going to stare at me all year.”

“I intend to stare at you all year,” Alana replied, ghosting her lips across Hera’s shoulder, “from a number of interesting perspectives. Starting in my bedroom.”

“We have to go all the way inside?” Hera pouted.

Alana gave a soft laugh, “We’re definitely _going_ to my bedroom. I’m just not sure if we’ll make it as far as the _bed_.”

“Perfect,” Hera replied, and lead them, stumbling slightly, back into the palace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! We love hearing your feedback on our story so far, and this has some of our favourite scenes, so please let us hear what you think!
> 
> Next chapter features the Aftermath, prudish humans, and the return of the Queens.


	8. vii: ease my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was a good plan, until it wasn’t. This should be a good thing, right? I’ve got him exactly where I want him. But I don’t feel like celebrating, somehow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Ease My Mind" by Hayley Kiyoko.

Not bothering to knock - they’d been living in close quarters under the roughest conditions for years - Jacobi burst open the door to Alana’s room as soon as the sun was up. “Are you decent? I need to - _oh._ ”

Hera sat at the vanity table, wearing a white silk robe that _definitely_ didn’t belong to her and very little else. Her silver eyes were wide and amused. Alana’s were glaring daggers.

“Have you forgotten how to _knock?_ ” she snapped, glancing between him and Hera. “I have an office, you know. Where you won’t be _walking in_ on things.”

“Oh, please,” Jacobi rolled his eyes. “You’ve walked in on me doing worse.”

Her eyes widened. “ _Not_ the time!”

Hera looked at both of them and giggled, graciously standing and pulling her robe a little tighter as she remembered what prudes humans could be. She nodded towards the bathroom. “Why don’t I go and… wash my hair, and then you two can talk?”

“Appreciate it,” Jacobi nodded.

“Wait, I - oh, for gods’ sake.” Alana waited until Hera had closed the door between them and pulled on an overdress. “What do you even _want_ at this hour?” she said, voice lowered. “If _Kepler_ sent you-”

“No, he’s still asleep. I think. I haven’t been to bed yet.” He tapped his fingers, aware of sounding a little… manic. Alana could always tell when he was keyed up. She only hoped he didn’t accidentally set fire to anything. “I had something I wanted to tell you about, but in light of _this…_ ” he nodded towards where Hera had been and smirked. “Congratulations, by the way. Took you long enough. Can we get rid of her now?”

“Oh, shut up!” She grabbed a piece of parchment and scrawled a note for Hera, giving her the morning off. This was clearly going to take some time. “We’re going to my office, and if you say _one word_ about this, I’m going to find a very creative way to make you miserable.”

“Oh, you’re no fun in the mornings.” Jacobi didn’t say much as they walked the few corridors to Alana’s office, wary of being overheard. Once they’d arrived, he collapsed into a chair, suddenly aware of how tired he was, and how he’d have to go through the whole day on no sleep.

Alana sat next to rather than opposite him, still irritated. “Right, _now_ tell me what was so important you had to burst into my bedroom to yell about it.”

“Gods, sorry, I was having a _personal crisis_ and needed to talk to my _best friend,_ but I guess I could just go and talk at a brick wall - “ he stopped himself and shook his head. He wasn’t angry at Alana, not really. “Sorry, sorry. Not your fault. Weird night. I… may have done something _really_ stupid.”

Alana leaned back against the headrest of her chair and closed her eyes, fingertips pressed to her temples. Of course they’d be having this conversation _now._ “It seems to have been in the air last night.”

“Oh, more than you know.”

She opened one eye and looked at him sidelong. “Jacobi,” she said, her tone calm and measured, “what did you do?”

“Failed, mostly. Failed _miserably._ ” He stared at a spot on the wall, just past Alana’s head, and wondered how on earth he’d gotten to this point. “Kissed him. The prince. Or, rather, _was_ kissed, and… didn’t stop him.”

Alana pressed her hands over her eyes. “Of course you did.” It wasn’t like anything _else_ in the palace made sense any more. “And you didn’t think this might be a consequence of your little picnic gambit beforehand?”

“Didn’t think he’d have the guts,” Jacobi muttered. “It was a good plan, until it wasn’t. This should be a good thing, right? I’ve got him exactly where I want him. But I don’t feel like celebrating, somehow.”

“Because you underestimated him? Or because you _over_ estimated yourself?” If it was the latter, at least she was in good company.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He held his head in his hands briefly, contemplated having a breakdown right there and then, and then looked up with a wry smile. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

“I think you’re a cocky _idiot_. You seriously went in there with no back-up plan for this?” She snorted, “Of course you did. No, I don’t think you’re a fool. I think you made a _massive_ error of judgement.”

“A brick wall might have been more sympathetic,” he grumbled.

“A brick wall wouldn’t have given you _honesty,_ ” she replied. “Anyway, it’s not like you were the only one to get carried away last night. Hell, it was part of the _mission_. Kepler practically gave you a free pass for that one.”

“ _I’m not his whore,_ ” Jacobi snapped, giving voice to the fear he’d had ever since they arrived. “I wasn’t _ordered_ to do it.”

Alana only looked at him, brown eyes clear. “No, you weren’t. But you did it anyway, and now we need to spin it to your advantage.”

“He shouldn’t have… he shouldn’t have fucking _pushed_ me at him.  He’s got no right to tell me I’ve got divided loyalties. He doesn’t _deserve -_ “ Jacobi stopped. “I’m not saying this. You’re not hearing this. I haven’t slept, that’s all.” He met her brown eyes with his green ones, wild and worried. “That’s all, right?”

Alana got to her feet, checked the door and windows, pulled the curtains closed, and sat back down. “Neither of us have slept. And we aren’t having this conversation. When we leave this room, we won’t even _remember_ this conversation. We’ve done it before.” She leant forward, lowering her voice. “Now tell me _everything_.”

Jacobi shook his head. “I swore an oath, Alana. Blood and magic… even if I was stupid enough to let myself _want_ something, I can’t change that and I can’t leave his side. So there’s no point in telling you that I might want to stay.”

Alana sucked in a breath. It was worse than she’d thought. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” she said, softly. She wasn’t sure which of them she was even referring to, only that whoever it was, she wanted him dead.

He laughed quietly, ruefully. “You could say that. Hey,” he said, a familiar teasing glint in his eye, “why don’t we run away? Somewhere no-one knows our names. We could pretend to get married, get a little farm, never talk to our neighbours… you could even bring Hera, if you _really_ have to. Sound good?”

She smiled at him, sadly. “It does sound good.” Impossible, but good.

Jacobi looked at his best friend with pride. Alana Maxwell. Always ready, always there. “You know I love you more than any stupid man who’s ever kissed me, right?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Of course I do, idiot.” She paused, then: “Love you too.”

“I won’t drag you into this,” he promised. “We’ll finish the mission and go home, like we always do.”

She nodded, “Like we always do…” She looked at her hands, then looked back up at him. She said, more quietly, “But just say the word and we’ll go find that farm.”

“No ducks,” he warned.

She grinned at him. “No ducks. Or _cheesemaking_.”

“Ooh. You drive a hard bargain.” Jacobi stood up, took a deep breath, and then opened the curtains. “So. What were we talking about?”

*

“So I assume what you’re _trying_ to tell me is that you’ve made progress with the prince at last?” This… was not the reaction he’d expected. “Progress that I assumed you’d been making _weeks_ ago, from the number of complaints I’ve heard from you? Congratulations, Jacobi, you’ve just taken your first steps into _real_ espionage.”

Jacobi blinked. “I still don’t have any _information,_ ” he said as slowly as he dared. “Sure as hell doesn’t _feel_ like progress.”

“ _Information_ often relies on building trust. You can’t expect your target to just drop it into your lap. This way, you won’t even have to offer him anything of ours in trade.”

“Because _I’m_ the trade?” Jacobi asked, his lip curled in mild disgust. “You could have just said that from the start.”

Kepler folded his arms. “You’re making this sound far more dramatic than it needs to. What was it you were telling me before? _He means nothing to me?_ Time to start acting like that’s the case.”

“It’s not about that. You tell me to whore myself out, _fine._ Just don’t call it _spying_.”

“This is part of your job, Jacobi. You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it. Besides,” he added, a smirk playing on the edge of his lips, “I thought you wanted him. Isn’t that what you said?”

Jacobi couldn’t argue. He _had_ said it. And it was true. “It won’t make him any more compliant with you,” he pointed out. “Trust me, the more he starts to like me, the more he _hates_ you.”

“Then use that to your advantage. He was never going to behave himself on _my_ account…” He let the second half of that sentence remain unsaid.

“And how do I know you won’t just use this against me later, no matter what I do with him?”

Kepler smirked, eyeing him up and down, “Oh, angel. Where’s your faith?”

“Maybe I just know you too well,” Jacobi said, teasing. Despite everything, he felt a little better. Kepler always grounded him. He was a controlling, constant presence. An anchor. Jacobi didn’t need to _think_ around him. “Fine, fine. I’ll play your part. Let him think I need to be rescued - he is _desperate_ to whisk me away from my ‘cruel master’. Hopefully we find Minkowski soon and we won’t need him any longer.”

This time, Kepler gave him one of his rare smiles. “Once we’ve sorted out those _irritating_ rebels, I’ll let you dispose of him however you wish.”

“Good,” Jacobi said, although that wasn’t _quite_ what he’d meant. “Glad we sorted that out.” He hoped Kepler saw no trace of his surprise in his face. Another lie to juggle. How many was that now? How long could he keep this up? “Is there anything else you need from me, sir?”

Kepler hooked a finger under his chin, tilting his head upwards. For a dizzying moment, he thought he was going to kiss him, but then he smiled, like an artist inspecting his creation. “No. You’re _perfect._ ”

*

Renée was quiet when she’d finished reading the latest message from Hera. It had been promising - Kepler and his minions barely speaking, Jacobi and Maxwell more caught up in their own intrigues than in stopping their army, Hilbert on the verge of mutiny against his former allies, and the city barely harnessed by regular public executions of ‘traitors to the Empire’ - so why did she still feel nauseous at the thought of carrying this rebellion through to its inevitable conclusion? She glanced over at Isabel, who was methodically cleaning her weapons in spite of the fact that there were plenty of squires who would be eager to take on the task. She looked completely unhurried, as if nothing could fluster her. Minkowski wished she had a hundredth of her poise.

“Do you think we’re ready?” she said, at last.

Isabel looked up in surprise. “You don’t?” she asked.

She rested her chin on her hands. “I don’t know. I was supposed to be preparing for situations like this my whole life, but now I’m here… how do I make this call? How do _I_ decide that we’re ready, knowing the cost if I’m wrong?” She sighed, “Maybe you were right. I’ve been a stupid little girl playing at a war she doesn’t understand. Maybe I was never meant to be a leader.”

“Hey now.” Isabel stood up, frowning, and put down her sword to take Minkowski’s shoulders in her strong hands. “I said that in anger, a _long_ time ago. Now you don’t get to talk about my wife like that. No-one does.”

Minkowski looked up at her, tried to smile, and failed. “I just… How are you so calm? How are you so _brave?_ I feel sick just _thinking_ about what we’re going to do, and I haven’t had to _look_ at a real battlefield yet. How do you do this? None of my studies ever taught me that.”

“None of them could,” Isabel promised. “Why am I calm? Because I know someone I trust has got my back. Fear is good. Fear keeps you sharp. You just don’t let it control you.” She squeezed Minkowski’s shoulder firmly. “ _I’ve_ got your back. Have you got mine?”

She looked up at her, grey eyes wide and serious. “ _Always._ ” As if it had needed to be said. She stood, and wrapped her arms around the other woman in a close embrace, head pressed to her shoulder. “I’ll assemble our generals first thing tomorrow. We ride for the Citadel of the Wolf.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, Friday people! Two things; firstly, a reminder that we also have a Harry Potter AU and a His Dark Materials fusion updating currently, which you can find on either of our profiles. (One day we'll write something in straight canon.) Secondly, we recently released an Official Playlist for this fic, which is made up of songs we used as a writing soundtrack and songs that fit the plot and characters, all neatly organised into chronological order. Find that here: http://captainlovelxce.tumblr.com/post/163292067658/a-playlist-for-the-wolf-359-fic-something 
> 
> As always, we'd love to hear your thoughts on how the story is progressing. This was a short chapter because it would have made six too long, but it needed to be written before the action of nine starts. Next week, Lottie brings you harp-playing, headaches, and the hard truth behind blood oaths.


	9. viii: the ground whereon she stands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what? You thought a kiss from a handsome prince would make me see the error of my ways? _Rescue_ me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Black is the Colour" by Cara Dillon. Technically it's a folksong, but that version is the one we had in mind while writing this.

“ _Daniel,_ ” Eiffel said as seriously as he could manage with his breath as short as it was, “we need to - mm -” he stopped talking as he was kissed again, reciprocated happily for a few moments, then regained his self-control and pulled away. “We need to-” kiss - “actually-” and another - “ _talk_ about this.”

“Mm… motion declined.” The kissing did not stop. Kissing was _much_ easier than actually thinking about what he was doing. He’d started out trying to beat both Kepler and Eiffel at their own game, and now… now he wasn’t even sure the game had _rules_. And as long as they kept kissing instead of talking, they wouldn’t have to discuss that, and he wouldn’t have to betray either of them _._

He attempted to pull away, “You know we can’t just keep doing this-”

“We can, though. Look.” Jacobi moved his lips to a spot just above Eiffel’s collarbone, hoping to shut him up again.

“ _Oh…_ No, _seriously_ , we need to talk about this.” He rested his hand against Jacobi’s chest, gently but firmly pushing him back. “This… this isn’t sustainable. You know that, right?”

Jacobi refrained from rolling his eyes, but only just. “Why, yes, I _had_ figured that out. What do you think I’m here for, your hand in marriage?”

Eiffel raised one eyebrow, “You _really_ think _that’s_ why we need to talk? Because of our _future?_ The _present’s_ complicated enough, between me and you and _him.”_ The last word was almost snapped rather than spoken.

“Don’t do this,” Jacobi warned. An hour without Kepler in his head, was that too much to ask?

“You think I want to any more than you do? We _have_ to. Or you know how this ends for both of us.”

“Do I? Enlighten me.”

Eiffel closed his eyes. It was difficult to just _talk_ with this level of closeness. Even with his eyes shut, he could still feel his presence, like an open flame. “It ends with you in exile again _if you’re lucky_ , and my head on a pike outside the citadel. It ends with Anne… my Anne…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t even finish the _thought._

Jacobi had been about to say, _I wouldn’t let that happen,_ and meant it - he could keep Eiffel alive as a prisoner, he was sure of that. Then he stopped. A strange look passed his face. “Anne?”

Eiffel was pale as death. He looked as though he was on the verge of fainting, which made it all the more surprising when he shoved Jacobi back against the wall. “ _You never heard her name._ ” His voice was low and deadly. “ _Never._ ”

Jacobi could have kicked him, if he wasn’t so surprised. _“_ I told you not to tell me! _”_ Fuck. _Fuck._

“Yes, because _apparently_ you’re _incapable_ of keeping your fucking mouth shut!” _Especially with people you’re fucking._

“Yes!” Jacobi hissed. “I am incapable!” He extracted himself from Eiffel’s grip just enough to roll up his sleeve and shove his wrist in Eiffel’s face, showing the mark that had appeared there in black ink when he’d sworn his oath. Kepler’s mark. “ _Very_ incapable!”

Eiffel stared at him, and took two steps back. “A _blood oath?_ You can’t be serious…” _Nobody_ could ask someone they gave a damn about to swear a blood oath. Eiffel wouldn’t have wished the consequences on _Kepler,_ let alone… He grabbed Jacobi’s wrist, inspecting the mark. “How the fuck does someone bind a sorcerer as powerful as you into a _blood oath?_ ”

“My reasons are my own,” Jacobi said, scowling. He pulled his wrist back from Eiffel’s grip. “What did you _think_ I was talking about, every time I told you I was sworn to him?”

“That you were bound by _normal_ oaths, like _normal_ people make?” _That you were just sleeping with him._

“ _We’re not normal people!_ I’m not a _normal person!_ You can’t just expect the fae-blessed to abide by a fragile, _flammable_ piece of parchment, can you?”

“Why the hell not, if he trusts you enough to _sleep with you?_ What the fuck kind of an oath does he need beyond that?!”

Jacobi stopped short, surprised. He was so used to it being a secret; Kepler would rather have died than let people think he had a weakness, so they never spoke of it to anyone, Alana excluded. “What makes you think that?”

 _Oh come on._ Eiffel folded his arms. “‘Maybe I like it when he takes it out on me?’ You weren’t exactly subtle with that one.”

 _Fuck._ Had he really said that? “You riled me up,” he replied, a little sulkily. “Fine, so what? I’m sleeping with two men at once. You already knew I was a vaguely horrific person, and you kissed me anyway.”

 _Because I thought you could be better. I_ wanted _you to be better._ “Do you really think I care about _that?_ I knew all of it _long_ before I decided to kiss you. _”_ It was true. It didn’t make him feel any better about saying it.

“And what? You thought a kiss from a handsome prince would make me see the error of my ways? _Rescue_ me?”

 _Yes_. “Of course I didn’t. I just didn’t realise you were _stupid_ enough to get caught up in _blood magic!”_ Or that Kepler was either sadistic or over-confident enough to take him there. “Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, seeing what you gave up for _your_ magic. Your arm. Your _men._ ”

Jacobi clenched his fist tightly, smothering the flame that had sprung up in anger. He made himself go cold and hard, like the steel of his sacrificed arm. Even his voice was cool when he spoke again. “How many little girls called Anne are there in the kingdom, Eiffel? How long do you think it will take me to find the right one?”

Eiffel went even paler. _Long enough for Minkowski to bind you in iron before she buries you alive. Long enough for me to help her do it._ “You wouldn’t dare… would you?” It didn’t matter any more - these games, this _stupid_ plan. All that mattered was that Jacobi kept his damn _mouth_ shut until the cavalry arrived. Even if one of them had to die to ensure it.

Jacobi held his gaze with eyes of ice and let him stew for a moment, before relenting. “No. I don’t hurt children. If I can help it.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, mentally adding another lie to his long list. Now he had another person to keep alive. “If he asks me about her directly, I _can’t_ lie. But I can… stall. Keep him thinking of other things.” He could try, anyway. “But, Eiffel?”

“What do you want?” _Anything. Just keep her alive._

He took Eiffel’s wrist with his steel hand. The metal was still hot from his near-explosion moments earlier. “I trusted you with my story. Don’t you _ever_ say that to me again.”

“Never,” he echoed, feeling his lungs begin to contract. All his work, all his _plans…_ none of it mattered any more. None of it could matter again. _He knew her name_. All Eiffel could do now was cling to his dwindling scraps of faith in the man in front of him.

“Good. Now, don’t do anything else stupid, and we might _all_ get out of this alive.” He released Eiffel’s wrist, uncomfortable with the new dynamic that had sprung up so suddenly between them. “I _do_ want to keep you alive. You understand that, right?”

“Of course.” Before, having faith in Jacobi had been a game, a test. Now, it needed to become a _religion._ Because if Eiffel didn’t believe he could do this, he lost the only thread of hope he had left.

The angry fire under Jacobi’s skin was retreating, and he started to feel something new. Guilt. Life was so much easier before all these _emotions._ He didn’t touch Eiffel, for fear of forcing him into something, although he would have liked to press a kiss to his forehead to accompany his words. “You don’t believe me,” he said softly. “But I promise, I’m trying my best. If I didn’t… _care_ about you, I would have left this room and gone straight to Kepler as soon as you slipped up.”

It was Eiffel who closed the distance between them, who drew him close. Not to keep his captor happy, but because he _wanted_ to. Needed to. “I know,” he murmured. He didn’t. But for now, _one_ of them had to be certain. “I know.”

“You know,” Jacobi said, almost absurdly conversationally after the near-catastrophe they’d just had. “If you’d just let yourself keep kissing me like you _obviously_ wanted to, we could have avoided this whole thing. In future, I say we leave conversations to the people who can actually _have_ them without doing something stupid.”

Eiffel rolled his eyes, “Oh, shut _up_ ,” and kissed him.

*

Kepler caught him on his way back from Eiffel’s quarters.

“Jacobi,” he said pleasantly. “Any progress today?”

Jacobi felt the mark on his wrist burn, or perhaps it was just his own fire. It had been a long time since he’d been able to tell the difference. “No, sir,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Nothing interesting to report.”

*

Alana was turning her desk out when Hera looked up at her. “Have you seen the reports on the princess’s movements for the past week?” she asked, barely looking up from the stacks of parchment she was searching through frantically.

“Not recently,” Hera said, closing her book. “I _think_ you sent them to Hilbert yesterday.”

The other woman frowned, “I don’t _remember_ sending them to him, but they’re not here…” It should have been easier to track the two women and their growing army, but how was she supposed to find them when her reports kept vanishing? “Are you sure they’re not in our rooms?” Taking work to bed was a bad habit Hera hadn’t broken her of yet.

“I’m sure,” Hera said. “I definitely think you sent them off. Don’t panic,” she said, smiling, and diverted Alana’s attention as much as she thought she could get away with.

Alana rested her suddenly aching head in her folded arms. “It’s lucky I have you to remember these things for me. I’m so _forgetful_ at the moment.” She peeked up at Hera and grinned, “Maybe you’re just too distracting.”

Hera stroked her shoulders gently. “You’re under a lot of stress at the moment,” she crooned. “Can I get you anything?”

She leaned into Hera’s touch, “Just your company, I think. And maybe some more tea.” Tea and Hera were the best things for her head. The reports (and the princess) could surely wait a little longer.

*

Minkowski shoved the next day’s itinerary out of the way and got to her feet as Isabel entered their tent. Their army was moving quickly, and this was likely the last night on the road before they would reach the capital. Before the siege began, and they were too busy leading an army to be Isabel and Renée.

“You’re back,” she said, trying not to sound as if she’d been waiting up for her. It was almost midnight, and she’d been getting cold waiting to enact her plan in the most revealing nightgown she had with her. So of course the sight of her wife would drive every carefully-worded line she’d come up with out of her head. Not just because of her _distracting_ loveliness, though she never thought she’d get used to _that_ , but because Isabel Lovelace looked _exhausted._ There were bruise-like circles under her eyes, and her warm brown skin was starting to take on a greyish undertone. She’d noticed that she hadn’t been coming to bed. She hadn’t realised this had meant not sleeping at all.

“You’re…” _Radiant._ Isabel had to blink. “Still awake,” she said. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

She shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s… been quiet.” The calm before the storm. She had to take advantage of it while they still had it. “I just noticed you didn’t come to bed last night.” _Or the night before that. Or the three nights preceding them._ She held out her hand, “Sit down with me, at least? This might be the last chance we get to be alone together before the siege.”

Although she wanted to do final checks on their plans, Isabel indulged her, and sat down. She felt a wave of tiredness wash over her as she took the weight off her feet, and had to concentrate to make sure her eyes didn’t flutter closed. “How was your day, princess?”

“Busy. Boring.” _I missed you_. “Someone did find me this, though.” She pulled out the small harp from where she’d hidden it earlier. “I could play to you for a little while, if you like?”

Isabel smirked. “You play the harp? I could never make it through a lesson without running off to do something more interesting.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips, “It was _something_ to do with my hands. Besides, I like music. I used to write songs when I was younger.” _Some of them were about you_.

 _I could find you other things to do with your hands._ “So play for me,” Isabel said, smiling lazily. A few moments off-duty couldn’t hurt, and who was she to say no to her wife?

Renée adjusted the bedding until she had a cushion in her lap to support the instrument. Then she smiled (invitingly, she hoped. Gods, how did _anyone_ manage this?) and patted the pillow. “Rest your head?” she said, softly, “It can’t hurt for a moment.”

 _Renée Minkowski, you will be the second death of me._ Isabel rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and laid down her head in her wife’s lap, with only the harp in between them.

“There, was that so difficult?” She allowed herself one brief touch of Isabel’s dark, curly hair, and then began to play. Not one of her own songs, an old song: _Black is the Colour_. She let her fingers play across the strings, ringing out a soft melody, and watched in delight as the frown-lines of stress faded from Isabel’s face. As though she could melt away some of her cares with her fingers alone. In the dim light of the tent, she looked younger, softer, more peaceful - and, Renée soon realised, fast asleep. _Damn._ She should have just kissed her. But she was sleeping too sweetly to wake her now, so she set the harp aside and tried to get as comfortable as she could without waking her. “You are _very_ lucky I can sleep sitting up,” she told her dreaming wife, and let her hands finally rest in Isabel’s hair. For now, they could be still.

They woke after sunrise, still tangled together. For once, Isabel had stayed with her the whole night through. She could only hope they’d get to share another.

*

Hera’s eyes almost gave off their own light in the dark room. The door was sealed shut, the guards two rooms away. Even the shutters were barred.

“Okay, are we safe now?” Eiffel asked, in a whisper. The darkness was oddly comforting, like that of the blanket forts he and his cousin had built as children. It was as safe for whispering secrets as any place in the palace could be. “Tell me, what’s happened?”

“Message from Lovelace,” Hera said urgently. She’d only just flown back from meeting Isabel at the front of her army. “They’ll reach the citadel soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

Eiffel exhaled, and realised he felt as though he’d been holding his breath for months. “She’s coming?”

Hera nodded. “They’re both coming. And they’ve amassed _quite_ a force, let me tell you. She made me promise to tell you to stay _out_ of the fighting, if you can.”

He almost laughed. “That’s exactly what she’d say to me.” She’d be back soon. They’d be _together_ again soon. For the first time, he felt as though they might survive this. “Anything else I should know?”

Hera considered. “Alana finally took me to bed,” she said, with a grin.

“...Not that I’m not happy for you, but what does that have to do with anything?” At least he wasn’t alone in his poor romantic decisions. Not that he was going to tell the dragon that.

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell someone.” She preened, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Stay safe, okay?”

He hugged her. “You too. Be careful with her, alright?” It was still hard to believe that the tiny girl in front of him was the last dragon.

“No promises,” Hera said, her trademark mischievous grin in place. “I am _dying_ to shed this skin for a while. Watch out for me in the sky!”

“I will.” It was the closest he’d ever come to battle. He already hated it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Lottie here bringing you Tuesday's update! Hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As Ada said last week, we now have an accompanying [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/mothify/playlist/3LZM847s0sqPnK3slwX14i) for this fic (go listen to it, it's great) as well as two other ongoing fics in this fandom, one a Harry Potter AU, the other a His Dark Materials/Daemons AU, so if you can't get enough of SESD, they're a good place to start. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you all think of this chapter, you know how much we love all your comments! Next week: a mountaintop castle, suspicions of sabotage, and a Very Bad Decision.


	10. ix: give me the burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They could stay in bed all day. They could lie here, entwined, ignoring the world, ignoring the war… and then what would happen? Another thing not to think about, another reason not to move…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Devil's Backbone" by the Civil Wars.

_Nobody_ who’d done half the things Jacobi had done had any right to sleep so peacefully. Granted, this was the first time Eiffel had actually seen him asleep, but that was irrelevant. No force of destruction should ever look this tranquil. Should ever look like he _belonged_ in his bed.

Jacobi stirred underneath him, only half-awake, and batted his head against Eiffel’s chest to get the rays of sun out of his green eyes. Eiffel automatically moved to pull him in closer, and could no longer pretend that he was still asleep.

“Good morning,” Jacobi said into his chest, his voice pleasantly rough and sleep-warm.

_It is_. It shouldn’t be. There should be nothing _good_ about having Jacobi in his bed. And yet… he looked down at him, his crinkled eyes, his red hair tousled and almost fluffy. “Good morning to you too,” he replied, and kissed him.

Jacobi smiled into the kiss. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” he admitted, “but I can’t remember why, right now.” He hadn’t felt so comfortable in days. Eiffel had been so _sweet_ in bed, treating Jacobi like he was made of something precious. He was used to it being the other way around.

“Mm… Neither can I,” Eiffel admitted. “We should probably get up at some point. Not yet, though.”

“It’s my job to stay with you,” Jacobi replied, teasing. “We don’t _have_ to go anywhere.”

“True.” They could stay in bed all day. They could lie here, entwined, ignoring the world, ignoring the _war…_ and then what would happen? Another thing not to think about, another reason not to move…

Jacobi poked him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” He kissed him again. _You._

“No regrets?” Jacobi asked, shrewdly. “You can freak out if you want. I won’t mind.”

“Mm… I’ll freak out later. Let’s be happy now.” _We won’t get the chance to be happy later._ His cousin would arrive with her army around sunset. There wouldn’t be another morning like this.

“We’ve got days,” Jacobi yawned. “I intend to make you happy while I still can. Gods, I can’t remember the last time I actually _woke up_ with someone. It’s…  really nice, actually.”

He wanted to say _who wouldn’t want to wake up with you?_ , but he already knew the answer. He wanted to tell him they didn’t have days, to keep him here for the time they had left. Instead, he tried to smile. “It is nice. I’d like more mornings like it.” He wished he was lying. It was easier when he’d thought he was lying.

“I really shouldn’t have stayed.” Despite Kepler’s words to the contrary he couldn’t help feeling like this was a trap, a test he’d failed. “I should go before someone realises I’m not in my room. But it’s still early.”

“Well then,” Eiffel stretched and sat up. “We have time.” _Not enough time. Never enough time._

Jacobi nestled into his side, and pulled the blankets back over them to escape the chilly morning air. With a half-hearted wave of his hand, he lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace. “No, don’t get up.” His magic hummed. It _liked_ Eiffel - or maybe just liked the novelty of having someone new to perform for, he wasn’t sure.

Eiffel wrapped an arm around him instinctively, “Cold?” he teased.

“I’m never cold. Just looking out for you, _human,_ ” he joked with a smirk. “I like winter. In summer, everything’s too…” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Too much. Too hot. Having fire under your skin in summer is a nightmare, especially if you’re being made to use it in battle.”

_Don’t think about the next time he’s going to have to use it like that. Don’t think about who will be ordering him to. Or who it’ll be aimed at._ To avoid thinking about the future, he turned to the past: “You know, I used to get really sick in summer. The dust in the city was really bad for my lungs. So my uncle would send us up to one of the mountain castles in August, where I could breathe. Sometimes it would even snow up there.” He smiled, “You’d like it up there, I think. It’s cold all year round, but the air’s so _clear_.” It had smelled of woodsmoke, he remembered. Woodsmoke and pine.

“Snow tends to melt around me,” Jacobi admitted. “But it sounds great. I never had a place like that when I was a kid - my father was a mercenary recruiter, so we moved around a lot. When he wasn’t drunk or didn’t feel like beating the crap out of me, we’d go to the woods sometimes and camp.” He’d been trying to think of a happy memory to give Eiffel in return, but that was the best he could do. He didn’t have much practice in the morning talks department, Jacobi reflected.

“I wish… never mind.” There was no point wishing things about them any more. He’d said once they had no future worth worrying about. It was a shame the same applied to hoping.

“No, tell me.” He poked him again. “Go on.”

“I wish I could show you that castle in the mountains. It’s technically mine, I think. Tiny, compared to the citadel, but so high up you can almost see the whole kingdom.” Minkowski had loved stargazing up there, wrapped in blankets and furs, their breaths making clouds in the night air. He’d never thought those summers might have an end.

“Maybe I could get the colonel to give me a few days leave,” Jacobi said, only teasing but he regretted it as soon as Eiffel’s small smile turned downwards.

He shook his head, and turned away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “It’s probably not even mine any more.” _Even if it was, I’d have no right to take you there._

Jacobi cursed silently into the pillow, and finally sat up. “I suppose. Hey, don’t leave,” he said, hooking an arm around Eiffel’s waist. “There’s still time before the rest of the castle wakes up. I won’t be missed yet.”

“We should still get up before anyone notices you’re gone.” _Gods,_ but it was impossible to pull away from him.

“Who’s going to notice?” Jacobi almost purred, gently pulling him back onto the bed. “I’ll say I got up early to train.”

“Let’s hope they’re more convinced by that excuse than me,” he replied, but he didn’t resist. The morning was icy, and he wanted to burn for a little longer.

*

Maxwell watched her assistant flit around the room as gracefully as if she had wings. She seemed so perfect that it felt almost heretical to be doubting her, but… “Hera?”

Hera turned and graced her with a dazzling smile. “Yes?”

“Where did you go last night? I woke up and you were gone.” It had been the breeze blowing in through the open window that had woken her to an empty bed and a silent set of rooms. Hera had vanished as though she’d never existed, but when Alana woke the next morning, she was curled next to her again.

Hera cocked her head to the side daintily, as if she didn’t understand the question. “I didn’t go anywhere,” she said, forehead wrinkled in adorable confusion. “You must have been dreaming.”

She wanted to believe her, but… “No. I wasn’t dreaming. Tell me where you were?”

“ _Alana_ ,” Hera laughed. “Why would I have gone anywhere? It was so cold last night. I wanted to stay in bed with you all day.” She enforced her charm a little more strongly, hoping Alana would forget her line of questioning entirely. But she could only mildly influence someone, and it didn’t work when the human was already convinced of something, as Alana was. She risked hurting her by extending her power further, but it was necessary to keep her peaceful.

Alana felt a headache bloom in her temples. “If you wanted to take a walk, I wouldn’t mind. I was _worried,_ Hera.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Hera insisted, and hoped to change the subject soon. “You’re sounding a little paranoid. Are you getting enough sleep?” she asked, silver eyes appropriately wide and concerned.

“I… I don’t know…” She’d been having so many headaches recently. Hera’s presence seemed to be the only thing that soothed them.

Hera noticed immediately and stepped into her space, pressing a hand to her forehead. “It’s hurting again, isn’t it? You should have said something.” She couldn’t help but pour a little cooling energy into Alana’s temples. She hated to see her in pain, even if later that day they would most likely be fighting each other anyway.

Alana felt Hera jolt away as the door slammed open. She started to her feet when she realised it was Kepler, stepping in front of Hera as she did so.

“ _Dr_ Maxwell,” he said, voice calm and deadly. “Care to have a guess at where the princess is right now?”

“I - I don’t know-” Even _thinking_ about the princess had started to cause her headaches.

“Funny, given that’s your job. If you ever feel like actually working, she’s less than a day’s ride away now. She’ll have the citadel encircled by tonight, with the army you swore she wouldn’t be gathering. Care to explain?”

“Dr Maxwell’s been very ill,” Hera said cautiously, noticing how visibly pale the other woman had gotten. She felt a little twinge of guilt at the thought. Perhaps she’d overdone it.

He looked at her like a fly had just spoken to him. “ _Dr Maxwell_ can answer me for herself. You’re dismissed, girl.”

Hera wasn’t scared of this human, but she made herself jump and stutter apologies anyway as she left. At least this way, she could warn Eiffel ahead of time.

“Well, Alana?”

“I - _apologise_ for my assistant’s behaviour. Sir.” How had she not noticed this? How had she not seen this coming? How had she allowed herself to become so distracted _\- Hera_. She really hoped she was wrong about the girl, but they were definitely going to have a _talk_ later.

“You’d be better off apologising for your own failings. Now, do you have an explanation for me, or have you simply failed?” His eyes were steel and ice, and she tried not to shrink from them.

Instead, she voiced a concern Hera had been telling her to dismiss for weeks. “I think there’s a saboteur in the castle. I haven’t received any useful information on the princess’s whereabouts in some time.” A week? A month? Why was it so hard to _remember?_ It was as though someone had cut a hole in her _brain..._

“And you didn’t think to bring your suspicions to me at any point?”

“You’ve been busy and I had no _proof._ I spoke to H-” She stopped, then repeated herself more slowly. “I spoke to _Hilbert_ about it a week ago. He told me he’d ‘take care of it.’ I assumed he’d bring his suspicions to you?” She was _certain_ that conversation had happened. Anyway, Hilbert could look out for himself. She wasn’t about to turn _Hera_ in, if she could avoid it. Not like this.

“Well, now, _that’s_ interesting.” He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment she was worried he’d seen through her. Then: “I’ll deal with him later. Get to my office and start planning out tactics with the captain of the guard. We don’t have much time to prepare for a siege, and if we lose this castle, the blame will fall entirely on your head.” She stood frozen for a moment at the threat of those words, and he barked a dismissal at her. She scurried off, head and heart pounding.

She didn’t see Jacobi enter the corridor as she left hurriedly in the other direction, but Kepler did. He stopped dead.

_“There_ you are,” he said silkily, one eyebrow raised at Jacobi’s dishevelled appearance.

“Something’s happened?” It wasn’t a question. Every inch of Kepler thrummed with urgency and vitality. He knew that look on him. It was magnetic; the reason Jacobi and Maxwell followed him so devotedly. You couldn’t stay away when he was like this. Jacobi found himself smiling. A fight, after so many weeks cooped up. _Finally._

“Reports say that rebel forces will be here by the end of the day,” Kepler told him, with a similar smile. Anticipatory, showing his teeth. “Are you ready?”

“Always.” Sooner than he’d expected, and a little disappointing to cut his days with the prince short, but he could manage. He wanted nothing more than a storm to break the tension, and this would do it. Keep Kepler in power, keep Eiffel alive. The best of both worlds. He hurried forward. “What do you need?”

Kepler looked at him approvingly for what felt like the first time in days, and took a torch from a sconce on the wall. “Give me a flame, angel, one of your best. Something to light my way.”

Jacobi grinned at him. This, finally, was something he could do. Could do without thinking, even, unlike all of the useless ‘spying’ he’d been trying to get his head around. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them, creating a spark that turned into a flame in his palm. It was a different colour to his usual fire; more yellow, almost golden. A fire that wouldn’t go out until _he_ told it to. He passed his hand over Kepler’s torch and lit it. “It’s yours. Keep it to yourself, though.”

Kepler’s smile widened, hungry, almost wolfish. The kind of smile that should come dripping with blood. “ _Perfect._ ” He held the torch aloft. “You go talk strategy with Alana in my office, and keep an eye on our hostage _._ I’m going to deal with the little bitch once and for all. She’ll _burn_ for this.”

Jacobi couldn’t help himself; intoxicated, he leaned forward and kissed him. Kepler indulged him for a moment, then laughed as he pulled away. “ _Later_ , angel. Be patient _._ ” They would have plenty of time between the breaking of the siege and the execution of the princess to _celebrate._

Jacobi watched contentedly as Kepler strode off. “Let’s go be monsters,” he said, to no-one in particular, and left to join Maxwell. He wouldn’t see the flames again until _much_ too late.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, TEAM FRIDAY. It's Ada, I'm answering your letters today, and fun fact: "give me a flame" is one of my favourite scenes. Reminder that we have a Spotify playlist, a Harry Potter AU and a His Dark Materials fusion also available for you, in case the wait from Tuesdays to Fridays is unbearable. 
> 
> Shout-out to our regular commenters, we adore you. Shit's about to get REAL in chapter ten. See you on Tuesday.


	11. x: burn your kingdom down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t do anything noble and stupid,” Isabel warned her. “You get out if you need to. Promise me.”
> 
> Renée grabbed her hand. “I promise I’ll come back to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine.

It was Minkowski who saw the fires first, riding at the head of the column. She stood up in the stirrups, squinting against the glare of the setting sun. There was something wrong in the lower city, the wooden houses which crowded around the base of the citadel outside its walls. The lamps glowed the wrong colours, glowing bright gold instead of dim red, and there was a grey mist obscuring the stone curtain wall beyond. No, not mist, smoke; her city was in flames! She wanted to spur her horse to a gallop, to charge in and save her _people,_ but… she had an army to lead.

She twisted in the saddle, “ _Lovelace?_ ” she yelled, voice high and panicked. _Please let her come_. Their generals would try to stop her, tell her it was too much of a risk, but _she_ would understand. They were her people too.

Isabel’s horse thundered up behind her, and halted to an abrupt stop by her side. “ _Gods,_ ” she breathed. “The _bastards._ ”

For a moment they stood there, frozen in perfect horror, then Minkowski’s brain kicked back into action, and she began to talk fast. “I need to go, I need to _help_ them, if I take the fastest riders, will you stay with the army?” She paused, inhaled, continued. “I know it’s asking a lot, I know-”

“Don’t be idiotic, you’re not going in there! I’ll go. _You_ stay with the army.”

She shook her head, “The lower city didn’t _exist_ last time you were here, Isabel. It has to be me. I’m the only one here who knows it well enough to save as many people as I can.”

Damn it all, she was right. “Don’t do anything noble and stupid,” Isabel warned her. “You get out if you need to. _Promise me._ ”

Renée grabbed her hand. “I promise I’ll come back to you.” She released her and turned her horse, calling out the names of the fastest riders with them. Isabel watched her and her small band first group together and then take off at a gallop, Renée’s red hair streaming out behind her like her own battle standard. _Come back to me._

*

“No, I don’t know what’s going on,” Jacobi sighed, after reminding Eiffel that he wasn’t allowed to leave his quarters that day for what seemed like the thousandth time. It was only half a lie. Jacobi couldn’t be everywhere at once, and his job at the moment was to guard the prince.

“You have to know _something,_ ” Eiffel knew he’d asked before, but he had to know if the siege had begun. If his cousin was near.

Jacobi sighed again, and it turned into a yawn. Lights popped and fizzed behind his eyes as he did, complementing the light-headedness he’d been feeling for hours and couldn’t shake. “Even if I did,” he said, “I couldn’t tell you.” Jacobi looked at him shrewdly. “But _you_ did, didn’t you? You were jumpy all morning.”

Eiffel scratched at his arms. “Can’t you feel it in the air?” he said, “It’s like there’s a storm coming. Something has to break soon.” Otherwise he might scratch off his skin with the urge to escape _something,_ a claustrophobia bourne of the oncoming end to his captivity, one way or another. His heart was beating like the wings of some panicked bird trapped in the cage of his ribs. It wanted out. _He_ wanted out. He resumed his pacing.

“There’s something in the air all right,” Jacobi muttered. He’d been feeling strange and weak for hours, and this time, it definitely wasn’t due to lack of sleep. He’d actually slept deeper and more comfortably with Eiffel the night before than he had in weeks, which he was trying very hard not to think about. “For gods’ sake, would you sit down? You’re making _me_ nervous.” He swayed a little, almost unnoticeably, as he walked to the sofa. “Come on.”

Eiffel shook his head. “How can you sit _still?_ It’s like the air is _burning_ in here.” Like the moment before a lightning strike.

 _Because I think I might fall over if I stand up any longer._ “That might be me,” Jacobi said, somewhat apologetically, sitting down. “I’ve got a... headache, or something. I feel strange.”

Eiffel paused in his pacing. “Are you alright?” He touched his arm, and yanked his hand away. “Whoah. You’re _freezing._ ”

Jacobi blinked at him, and then touched the spot where Eiffel’s hand had been. “Oh.” _No wonder he felt so strange._ He hadn’t felt cold in years. “I think - “

He was interrupted by the sound of a scuffle outside, and then a door slamming open. Instinctively he snapped his fingers to summon a flame in self-defence, but nothing came. His hand felt like ice.

Hera stood in the doorway, looking panicked and shaken. “Eiffel,” she breathed. “Get away from him and come with me.”

“ _Hera,_ ” He strode over to the door and grabbed her by both hands, pulling her inside and slamming the door shut. “What’s happened? Tell me!”

She pointed an accusatory finger at Jacobi. “The lower city’s _on fire._ ”

Eiffel stood frozen in the centre of the room, eyes darting between them. His hands curled into fists, and he turned on Jacobi. “ _Tell me you didn’t know about this._ ”

“I didn’t…” Jacobi whispered. He started to panic at how much effort it took to say the words, to even keep his eyes open. “I can’t even summon a _spark_. I don’t understand…”

And then he understood all too well. Everlasting fire. He’d given Kepler just one flame of his own _everlasting fire,_ and the man had taken it and spread it and made it into something Daniel couldn’t possibly sustain. It was draining him of everything he had.

“Eiffel,” he said weakly. He didn’t have the words to make him understand.

For the first time since the beginning of his imprisonment, the prince looked genuinely afraid. “ _What’s happening?_ What did you do?”

Jacobi was struggling to keep his eyes open. He could feel it now, even though they were nowhere near; his fire, licking at buildings in the lower city, completely out of control. “Not me,” he said slowly. “He took it from me.”

“Took what?” Eiffel grabbed his shoulders despite Hera’s protests, holding him upright. He was shaking. “Took _what?_ What has he _done_ to you?” After all his own playing with fire, _Kepler_ was going to be the one to burn them all up?

“Oh,” Hera said suddenly, eyes growing wide. “You gave him your everlasting fire, didn’t you? You _moron._ ”

 _Now_ it made sense - the storm in the air, the _cold_. “Listen to me,” Eiffel said urgently, kneeling down beside Jacobi as he folded to the ground. “This is _your_ magic. Not his. You can’t let him take any more from you. He’s going to kill you if you don’t stop him. You don’t owe him that. Take it back. _Take it back_.”

Jacobi looked up at him. The cold was spreading thick and fast now and he felt like he might die from it. Not even his oath mark was burning. The only warmth he could feel was Eiffel’s hands on his shoulders, reminding him of what heat could feel like. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and reached out for the fire. It was resistant at first, enjoying itself too much, but he knew how to call it back home.

“You were too good to me,” he murmured.

All at once it came rushing back. His vision blacked out and he fell forward into Eiffel’s arms, smoking and singed and whole again.

*

There was so much _screaming_ , and not enough of her to go around. They’d had to abandon the horses at the outskirts, the streets too full of people and smoke to navigate on horseback without trampling people underfoot. She barked orders and, when she couldn’t be heard over the clamour, began dragging anyone she could grab hold of out into the wide main road, too wide for the flames to leap across. It was like no fire she’d ever seen; golden and dancing and _impossible_ to put out. It was like battling a living thing. One huge behemoth flame, ravenous and devouring all it touched.

“ _Run_ ,” she told them, “and don’t stop till you get to Isabel Lovelace. _Run._ ” Some obeyed her instantly. Others grabbed those nearby and spread the evacuation orders. _Somehow_ they managed to clear the widest streets, and made their way through the alleyways in twos and threes, never alone. There weren’t enough of them, there would _never_ be enough of them - she adjusted the wet scarf that covered her face and carried on.

The alleys were a nightmare maze, all bitter black smoke and mocking gold flames. There were too many houses, packed too tightly together, and the flames leapt between them, hungry and all-consuming. They had to move fast, dodging falling debris and embers spat out of the blazing houses. Some of the buildings had people trapped inside them. Some she could save. Others… She didn’t think she’d ever stop hearing them. It became a hellish rhythm - kick down a door, search what she could of the house, grab anyone she could reach ( _a young mother, a child, a grandfather, a babe-in-arms_ ). Get out. Get _them_ out. Leave those she couldn’t save. Keep walking. Keep _breathing,_ in spite of the smoke, in spite of the heat, in spite of the guilt. Don’t die. Be a big girl, and don’t die.

She could have remained in that black-gold hellscape for hours, or days, or centuries. It didn’t matter how long it took. This was her city, and _she couldn’t save it._ She could barely save herself as the smoke began to seep into her eyes and her lungs. Still, she kept going, kept fighting a battle that she had already lost. There was nothing noble about this, only bleak horror and desperation. _Isabel, I’m sorry._

And then the flames burned blue and cold as ice, and vanished completely. She fell to her knees in the charcoal ruins of her city, and then, slowly, got back to her feet and began sifting through the rubble, seeking the living and the dead alike.

*

Hera felt the _rush_ of magic like a tide through the room, dragging on her like a current so that for a moment it was all she could do to stand. Then she grabbed Eiffel, still cradling an unconscious Jacobi. His head snapped up, eyes wide and vacant as though in some waking nightmare.

“We need to leave. _Now,_ ” she repeated. Kepler would be back soon, would want to know what was happening to his enchanted fires. They had to be gone before he returned.

He stared at her for a moment as his eyes focused, then shook his head. “You go. They have even more reason to keep me alive now Minkowski’s here, but you won’t be safe any more.”

“ _What?_ ” She stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend what were clearly _stupid human morals._ Eiffel was holding Jacobi like a lover when he should have been securing him as a hostage. “Are you - are you _protecting_ him? He’s a fire sorcerer! He tried to kill everyone!”

“It’s not about him.” _Liar_. “Maxwell won’t protect you anymore. I’m the only person who can expect _some_ kind of immunity in here. I can wait, bide my time, and when you need it-”

“Protection? Eiffel, I am a _dragon_!” She was starting to panic. Keeping Eiffel safe had been the one thing Renée had made her promise.

“ _Dragons can be slain._ You’re more useful to them out there now anyway. Anything I can do to help, I can _only_ do from in here. Get out there. Keep my cousin safe. I’ve been spying on them since before you got there, I can keep it up another few weeks.” _Or however long it took for the siege to break_.

Hera wasn’t convinced. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jacobi, even though he was still unconscious. “You can’t trust him,” she urged. It wasn’t just her own prejudices against fire sorcerers making her say it. “Promise me you won’t trust him.”

“I never have before.” Another lie, but what did one more really matter?

“You should probably tie him up or something.” Hera looked at the door, and sighed. “Minkowski is going to _kill_ me.”

“Tell her I made you do it. Tell her… if I don’t make it out of this, tell her she’s going to be an amazing queen.”

“ _Don’t talk like that._ ” She paused. “But I will, of course.” She darted over and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Make smart choices,” she warned him, and left the room to join the battle.

Halfway to the courtyard, she ran straight into Maxwell. Maxwell accompanied by a pair of armed guards.

“Alana,” she said, smiling nervously. “What’s going on?”

Maxwell sighed, suddenly looking older, and grabbed her wrist. “Hera, this is your last chance. _Tell me the truth_. Tell me you’re not who I think you are.”

 _May as well try._ She let her eyes grow big and wet, and gasped pitifully. “Alana, please, I don’t understand. You’re _hurting_ me. What have I done?”

“ _No_ , Hera. No more games. No more wide-eyed innocence. No more _mysterious headaches_. Tell me _everything_ now, and I might be able to protect you.”

Hera could tell she was lying. The innocent mask slipped off her face, and since there was no point in pretending any longer, a dangerous smile curled on her lips. “You, protect _me?_ Hilarious. Oh, it was so much fun pretending to be your _naive little assistant._ Reading your _childish_ books. Listening to all your silly theories. Was it fun for you?”

Alana dropped her arm and took two steps back, some primal instinct kicking in at the sight of those _teeth._ Nothing human had teeth like that. “Hera?” She could hear her voice beginning to shake, “what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She repeated, mockingly. “Aren’t you supposed to be the world’s foremost expert on _dragons?_ ” She rolled her shoulders in a delighted stretch, and smiled as pink scales started to run up her arms and the side of her neck.

Somewhere in the distance, Alana could hear the soldiers starting to scream. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as Hera _changed_ in front of her. It should have been horrifying, watching the Hera she’d known vanish under claws and scales and wings. She should have been afraid. Maybe, in some far-distant corner of her head, she was. But in that moment, she was entirely transfixed on the _dragon_. It - _she_ \- was _beautiful_. Maybe that was why she didn’t scream when she felt the claws close around her waist, or when she was lifted far, far off the ground. No, the screaming only started when they broke through the window and she realised _exactly_ how much danger she’d put herself in. The ground was suddenly _very_ far away.

“Please don’t wriggle around like that,” Hera said as they got further and further from the castle. “I’d really hate to drop you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Tuesday people! Lottie (goldtreesilvertree) here, you just read the result of me deciding the fic up until this point has been too soft and fluffy, and (like Kepler) I responded to that by setting everything on FIRE. Yes, the plot has returned with a vengeance, and it's not going away any time soon. *cackles maniacally* To keep you going till Friday, a reminder that we have a Spotify playlist for this fic and the lovely Ada has made moodboards for all our main characters, which can be found on her Tumblr @captainlovelxce. We also have 2 more AUs for your reading pleasure: a His Dark Materials AU and a Harry Potter AU.
> 
> Next time: the aftermath of the fire, and the start of the siege, as well as discussions of Eiffel's hobbies, Maxwell's errors, and the tricky nature of contracts. See you on Friday!


	12. xi: prepared to love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re no fun when you’re a hostage, has anyone ever told you that?” Hera sighed, flicking her braids behind her. “I actually came to tell you that we started negotiating for your trade, but if I were you, I’d get comfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Weights & Measures" by Dry the River.

The first thing Jacobi noticed when he woke up was the comforting warmth of the fire running through his veins once more. The second was that Eiffel was still holding him, his head in the prince’s lap.

“You’re awake?” He sounded _exhausted_.

“You’re _here_ ,” Jacobi said, confused.

Eiffel blinked at him. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know, _escaping?_ ” Jacobi sat up a little too quickly, and felt light-headed again, but powered through. He twisted around to look at Eiffel. “What’s _wrong_ with you? Why didn’t you just… take me out when you had the chance?”

_Because you look so much younger when you’re sleeping_. “Because killing unconscious men is not one of my hobbies? If I was going to kill you in your sleep, I’d’ve done it last night.” Also true.

“You’re insane,” Jacobi muttered, massaging his temples. He felt like he’d just gone ten rounds with Kepler in the tilting yard. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years. “What _happened?_ ”

“Kepler set the lower city on fire with some weird magic shit you _stupidly_ handed to him, I had to yell at you to make you take it back before it drained you dry, you took a little recovery nap, and I decided to keep an eye on you like a decent human being rather than trying to escape like an idiot.”

“Everlasting fire,” Jacobi murmured. The full force of what had happened to him was slowly starting to sink in. “I gave him a part of _myself,_ and he… _stole_ it.”

“Yes, let’s be amazed at Kepler acting in a way entirely in keeping with the rest of his behaviour and nearly _killing_ you because he got drunk on power, _like he has been this whole time._ ”

Jacobi shook his head. He continued to stare at a spot on the floor, almost ignoring Eiffel completely. Kepler had _never_ used him in that way before. He was the colonel’s _angel,_ his perfect creation… his magic was always treasured and respected, _revered_ even. “He just stole it,” he repeated numbly.

Eiffel reached out and cupped his face in his hands. “He stole it from you.” _He stole_ everything _from you._

He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, and blinked them away. “But he’s _never_ \- what are those?” he asked, suddenly noticing the marks on Eiffel’s arms. He held them up for inspection. Burn marks.

“Your body temperature kind of… lost it for a while back there. I wasn’t sure what was going on, or if you’d survive it, so I just… held on.” _Till you came back._

“I burned you,” Jacobi said, stating the obvious in his shock. _Why didn’t you just leave?_ “Gods, I’m so sorry - “

Eiffel kissed him, slowly and sweetly and over too soon. “That’s what I get for playing with fire,” he joked, drawing away a little.

“You should go,” Jacobi said abruptly. “Get to safety. I’ll tell him you overpowered me, he won’t be able to prove it either way.”

Eiffel stared at him. “ _No_. Don’t you _dare_ tell me you’re going back to him. Not after this.” He held up his arms. “Not after what he did to you!”

“ _Eiffel,_ ” Jacobi said, frustrated because for the hundredth time, he still wasn’t _getting it._ He pushed his bare wrist at him, the one with Kepler’s mark burned on his skin. “What do you think this _is?_ ”

Eiffel grabbed his wrist, flipped it so they could both look at it. “I… have no idea.”

Jacobi stared in disbelief. His skin was clean. Pale and freckled as it had been when he was a child. No trace of a mark to be seen as he traced it in wonder.

“The hell?” Eiffel asked.

“He stole it,” Jacobi said again, still staring at the new, clean skin under his fingers. “He stole what I’d agreed to willingly give… he violated the terms.” Kepler had been as bound to the oath as he had. The other man had forgotten that, in his lust for power, and so had Jacobi.

Eiffel put his hands on his wrists, metal and flesh alike. “You’re free.” _If you want to be._

“I’m free,” he repeated. He’d never wanted to be free before today. Now, the thought of it stretched out before him like a beautiful horizon. He tried smiling, and then laughed long and loudly, before pulling Eiffel in for a long, liberating kiss.

“I don’t suppose you need a sorcerer?” he asked, as they drew apart.

Eiffel shook his head, smiling giddily, “No. I need _you._ ”

“That’ll do.” He kissed him again, and then once more for good measure. “Would you really keep me around, after everything?”

“In a heartbeat.” Minkowski would need persuading, of course, but how could she say no? The man had been coerced, and she’d always loved justice.

“And if I can convince Alana to stay?”

“I’m sure we could make an argument for political asylum.” The Empire would not be welcoming to its lost lambs, after all, but they could keep them safe here. Him and Jacobi, Hera and Alana. They could be _happy_ here.

“Well, we _will_ need someone new to serve.” Jacobi smiled. “Look, I need to find her, to make sure she’s okay. I need to give Kepler a _hell_ of a piece of my mind. And then I’ll be back. I promise.”

*

The remains of the city finally rose up before Lovelace, twisted skeletons of buildings looming charcoal black and ash-white. There were already teams of people - soldiers and civilians both - digging through the rubble, but no sign of Minkowski anywhere. Some of their forces were already setting up a camp which encircled the ruins. Nobody wanted to sleep amongst the burnt-out shells, and she couldn’t blame them. She dismounted at the edge of the ruins and entered, people turning to watch her silently as she passed. Were they blaming her? She should have come sooner.

One of the rescue teams directed her to the last place Minkowski had been seen, near the base of the citadel walls. She would know what to do now. She would know how best to help these people, _their_ people. She watched for the tell-tale flash of red hair, but saw nothing, until an ash-coated ghost slammed into her from the side, embracing her.

“ _You’re here,_ ” the creature breathed, and she knew who it was immediately. She was almost unrecognisable under her coating of dirt and dust and ash and blood, but it was _definitely_ her wife.

Isabel detached herself and held Renée by the shoulders, taking her in and searching for injuries. “You’re alive!”

Renée made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, “I promised I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”

“I never doubted you,” Isabel said. “I’m here now. Let me get you to safety.”

She shook her head, bouncing on her toes with a kind of manic energy Isabel easily recognised, “I can’t, there’s too much to do, they need us both, there could still be _people_ in there-”

“You are _one_ woman. An absurd, _magnificent_ woman, but one woman nonetheless.” She regarded her fondly, with not an inconsiderable amount of exasperation. “You’re going to fall asleep on your feet.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead. People _need_ me now. They need to know they can trust me.” She looked up at Isabel, grey eyes wide. “I’m not like you. I don’t have a thousand songs written to my courage and leadership and valour. I need to prove myself to them, and I need to do it _now._ ”

Isabel relented. That, at least, she could understand. “What do you need from me?”

She wanted to say _stay_. She wanted to weep, to kiss her, to do _anything_ to stop the screaming in her head. But the people needed Lovelace far more than she did. “Can you take command of this side of the city? You’re right, I can’t be everywhere, and there’s more work to do at the western side.”

Isabel nodded, and reluctantly let go of Minkowski’s arms. “Yes, of course. You’ll send me a rider if you need me?”

She nodded. “The minute I see any sign of action on the walls, I’ll send for you.” She smiled, wan and tired under the dust. “Can’t have you missing all the glory, after all.”

“Plenty to go around,” Isabel grinned. She cupped her face in one hand, smearing ash and dust off Renée’s cheek. “Don’t do anything stupid and noble while I’m away.”

She returned the grin, and for a moment wanted to lean in and kiss Isabel’s smiling mouth. But if they started now, she would never want to stop. There would be time later, once the siege began in earnest. They had time.

*

_Find Maxwell. Keep Eiffel alive. Get out._ Jacobi had a mantra running through his head as he ran through the corridors. With any luck she’d still be in Kepler’s office; Alana wasn’t a fighter, there was no way Kepler would risk her on the battlefield. Or would he? He honestly couldn’t say he knew any more. _FInd Maxwell. Keep Eiffel alive. Get out. Find Maxwell -_

The door to the study was open, but there was only one person inside. He clenched his hands into fists and felt his palm grow hot as Kepler looked up at him.

“Well, well,” he said softly. In the distance, Jacobi could see Kepler’s window, and the ashy scenes below where the fire had disappeared. “Look who thinks he can afford a _conscience_.”

Jacobi said nothing as he strode into the office. He slammed both his hands down on the desk - the steel one leaving a considerable mark. “ _How could you,_ ” he hissed.

“How could I _do what was necessary?_ I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking that question, _Sir_ Jacobi.” He folded his arms, as though expecting an explanation to tumble from his lips. As if he was in the right.

Jacobi simply laughed, high and bitter. “If you think I’m still your goddamn knight after _this_ \- I would have torched a _thousand_ buildings if you’d just thought to _ask_ me _._ ”

“ _I didn’t think I had to._ I thought I had your loyalty _._ Your _oath._ You were mine. Is that still true?”

Jacobi blinked in disbelief. He shouldn’t have been so surprised at the colonel’s lack of understanding, but the man always could surprise him. “No, it’s not still true! You took a piece of my _actual fucking soul_ and thought you could use it for your own ends. I said: keep it to _yourself._ Just to light your way. You nearly _killed_ me!”

“And now you’re going to sulk about it?” Kepler folded his arms. “You’ve nearly died a thousand times over under my commands. Why is this one so different? Because of _him?_ ”

“Maybe it is!” Jacobi threw his hands up in the air. “Or _maybe_ it’s because you’ve never had the fucking audacity to _steal my magic_ before. I would have died right then and there if Eiffel hadn’t convinced me to take it back. How _dare_ you?”

“It’s my magic,” Kepler responded simply. “I own you. Remember?”

Roughly, Jacobi pulled up the sleeve on his flesh-and-blood arm, taking a second to marvel once again at the clean skin there. He presented it to Kepler; not triumphantly, like Eiffel would have wanted him to. More... bitter. _Look what you’ve done._ “Contracts go both ways. _Warren._ ”

Kepler narrowed his eyes, “And that’s all that mattered to you? The _contract?_ I made you, and you think you can walk away just because of a _contract?”_

“I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Jacobi said, folding his arms. “Because now I finally see what you are. Took me long enough, but I got there. You’re just a middle link in the chain who’s obsessed with magic because he doesn’t have any _true_ power of his own. Now you won’t have me or Maxwell, either.” He waited with pleased anticipation for Kepler’s reaction. He would be a pet sorcerer no longer.

To his horror, Kepler _smiled._ “Ah, I _wondered_ when you were going to get to her. I did have something to tell you about Dr Maxwell, before you decided to throw your little tantrum.”

Jacobi started, losing his glare completely. The cold feeling was back, and for a second he panicked for his fire, before he realised what he was feeling was just sheer human terror _._ “What is it? _Where is she?_ ”

Kepler sat down at the desk, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “Doctor Maxwell was captured by the enemy earlier today. Perhaps if you’d met with her sooner, rather than fretting over morals with the _prince_ , you could have saved her…” He tilted his head as though thinking. “Then again, I’m not sure who’d have come off worse from that fight, you, or the little _dragon_ she thought to make a pet of.” His smile grew wider as he took in Jacobi’s stunned silence. “So, if you want to see our Lady Alana again, I’d suggest you decide where your true loyalties lie. _Angel._ ”

Jacobi lowered his eyes. He’d made his choice in a heartbeat, of _course,_ but he still allowed himself a moment to grieve. He thought of warm sunlit mornings, and mountain castles, and being treasured for himself, instead of his fire. He thought of Eiffel. Then he locked those thoughts away, never to be looked at again, and brought his gaze back up to the colonel.

“What do you need from me, sir?”

*

_Stupid._ Alana Maxwell _hated_ feeling stupid. Stupid meant making an elementary mistake, and then building on that mistake until your entire tower caved in. _Stupid_ to fall for a ploy that should have been obvious. _Stupid_ not to recognise that no _student_ could have understood dragon better than her. _Stupid_ to fall into a pair of silver eyes without looking at the face that held them. And the worst part was, she only had herself to blame.

She flinched at the sudden light as the flap of her tent was opened. Was it the princess? Lovelace? She hadn’t seen either yet. No, it was a dainty, silver-haired, all-too-familiar figure. _Hera._

“Hello, doctor,” Hera said, as calm and lovely as ever.

_Don’t speak. Don’t let her know you care._ Shutting up had never been one of Alana’s gifts. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said, coldly.

“Why would I let anyone _else_ deal with you? I’m the one that put in the work,” Hera replied. She walked forward and sat daintily down on the ground, legs crossed. “I hope you’ve sufficiently recovered from the journey? I’m not used to carrying passengers.”

“Is there a point to all this, or have you just come to taunt me?” _Faerie bitch._

An honest-to-God _pout_ formed on Hera’s lips. “I came to check on you,” she said. “If you’d rather have someone else… Lovelace, perhaps?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do we really still have to play these _games,_ Hera? Just tell me what you want. What you’ve _always_ wanted, apparently.” _Because it certainly wasn’t me._

“You’re no fun when you’re a hostage, has anyone ever told you that?” Hera sighed, flicking her braids behind her. “I actually came to tell you that we started negotiating for your trade, but if I were you, I’d get comfortable.”

“What do you mean, ‘get comfortable’?” Kepler surely wouldn’t just _leave_ her. She knew too much, and Jacobi would never let him.

“I mean, until he actually _answers_ us and gives Eiffel over, you’re not going anywhere _._ He’s playing it… _very_ cool. You’d think he was actually winning _,_ instead of having lost two of his best people and a city besides.”

She bit her lip, then asked another question, knowing that for every one Hera answered, there was going to be an inevitable price: “What do you mean, _two_ of his best people?” Did they have Jacobi too? How would they even have _captured_ him? Or…

“I mean that your commander nearly killed his pet sorcerer by using too much stolen magic to burn down the city. Which is only what a human who has the _audacity_ to think he can control fire deserves, really.” Hera looked at the pained expression on Alana’s face, and relented. She really didn’t want the woman to hate her as much as all that. “He isn’t dead. He was unconscious when I left, and… Eiffel’s looking after him. For some reason.”

Alana’s first emotion was relief. Her second was panic. _That_ explained why Kepler hadn’t replied to the exchange. The moment she set foot in the citadel would be the moment he lost his sole remaining hold over her best friend. For Kepler, it was better that she die out here. Suddenly, appealing to Hera’s better nature seemed a lot more important than it had before. She manage to choke out the next words: “But he’s alive?”

Hera nodded. “Eiffel convinced him to take his magic back, which he did, and then he collapsed. I _think_ he’ll wake up. Eiffel’s there with him, regardless - I couldn’t make him leave.” Her lip twisted as she said the words. If anything happened to him because of his stupid, _noble_ human morals…

That was something. Alana closed her eyes. _As long as he’s alive, I have a chance._ “You’d be better sending your messages to Jacobi than Kepler. _He’s_ the one with the vested interest in my safety. Kepler’s probably hoping you kill me now.” She tried to keep her tone cool and disinterested, as if she _weren’t_ bargaining for her life with one of the fae.

“Interesting. If he wakes up, I don’t think he’ll be under Kepler’s control any more. Do you think we should just deal with him directly?” Hera paused, and tried to let go of any charm she had on. She wanted to say something - for once - genuinely. “I’d really rather you weren’t a casualty of this war.”

Kepler or Jacobi. Goddard, or wherever she could hide from them. She had to choose. “Deal with Daniel. Kepler doesn’t care about anything but what his mission is.” She opened her eyes to the unnerving sight of Hera’s _real_ smile.

“The others may take some convincing, but I think you’re right. He’ll have one _royally_ pissed-off sorcerer on his hands later.” Hera twisted a braid around her fingertips, wondering how best to calm her… hostage. “Alana. Is there anything I can… get you?”

Alana stared at her. “What would be the price?”

“Does there have to be a price?”

“Isn’t there always a price with you people?” Jacobi had drilled it into her head enough. A shame she hadn’t listened until it cost her her heart and her freedom.

“I’m not asking you to make a _deal_ with me,” Hera smiled. So panicky, these people. “But I could get you some water, or a shawl… Are you cold?”

Either would have been nice, but she shook her head. “Just one more question: was _any_ of it real?”

“Could you be more specific?” She had faked a lot of things, but not… _everything_.

“The interest in my work. The late night conversations. The _ridiculous_ flirting.” _The way you looked like you loved me._ “Did you care at all, or was it all some silly _human_ game to you?”

Hera considered her words carefully, head cocked to one side in an unconsciously cruel imitation of her former, innocent-looking self. “The interest in your work… negligible. The late night conversations… carefully structured, but not unenjoyable. The ridiculous flirting…” She paused, and her usual mischievous smile turned into something softer, more honest. “Every second.”

_Oh._ “Does any of that matter any more? _Can_ it?”

“We could try?”

She really _wasn’t_ human. “You’d really _want_ to try? Like _this?”_ If her hands had been free, she would have gestured to their surroundings, to her bonds, to the guards waiting outside the tent for Hera to leave so they could resume their vigil.

“No,” Hera sighed, standing up, “I suppose not.” She dusted down her dress and looked at the tent flaps. “I should be getting back to the queens.”

She turned to go, and Alana couldn’t resist one last comment. “Hera?” The other woman turned back to her, silver eyes wide, white plaits hanging across her shoulders. For a moment, Alana was back in her office, gazing at Hera in the half-darkness of the evening. She’d always loved the starlight in her hair. Then she shook herself. “You told me once your fae blood came from your _mother’s_ side of the family. I always said I couldn’t see the resemblance. I was wrong.”

Hera’s eyes, always soft as moonlight, suddenly hardened to an icy steel. For a moment, Alana couldn’t understand how she’d ever seen her as a young, defenceless human girl. She was ancient. She was _terrifying._

“ _Big mistake,_ ” she hissed, and stormed out of the tent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! We are well and truly In The Plot now. Let us know what you think.


	13. xii: my sweetest downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you.” _I loved you._
> 
> “It’s nothing.” _I loved you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Samson" by Regina Spektor.

Making him go back to arrest Eiffel was cruel, even for Kepler. The man was many things, but _petty_ wasn’t usually one of them. Then again, Jacobi didn’t usually break their bond and threaten to leave. It wasn’t a _usual_ kind of day.

He took a deep breath, and knocked on the prince’s door.

“Come in!” He sounded _happy,_ that was the worst part.

Jacobi opened the door, and stepped inside, keeping his body language tuned to strict military protocol. He couldn’t even look Eiffel in the eye. “You need to come with me,” he said.

The prince frowned, “Daniel?” Then, realising _something_ was awry, he backed up several steps. His expression had shifted from confusion to fear to… disappointment. He wished there had been room for surprise in there. “He got to you, didn’t he?”

Jacobi continued to stare at the wall, letting his voice fall flat and low so as not to betray the feelings he should never have had. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I’d rather not bring you in by force.”

Eiffel didn’t even try to run, just kept watching him with that expression of absolute hope mixed with absolute betrayal. “Please. Don’t do this. You’re _free._ ”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “I know. This is my choice.” Better to let Eiffel hate him. Better for neither of them to have false hope.

Even so, the prince held out his hands. “Tell me what he has on you. Let me _help._ ”

Jacobi shook his head. “The only thing you can do for me is to come quietly.”

Eiffel’s gaze finally dropped to the floor. It was just as well. His eyes were close to overflowing. “At least tell me why.” His voice was soft. That didn’t make it any more bearable.

Jacobi didn’t answer for a moment, as he busied himself with (gently, almost kindly) tying Eiffel’s wrists together. His hand lingered for just a moment on Eiffel’s bound ones, and then he drew away and cleared his throat.

“They have Alana,” he said.

He’d been wrong. The worst part hadn’t been Eiffel’s happiness. It was his sudden, atrocious expression of _understanding_.

“I…” He sounded choked up. “I hope you get her back safe.” He couldn’t even _hate_ him. He would’ve done the same in an instant for Minkowski.

Jacobi merely nodded in acknowledgement, not trusting himself with the words. He opened the door, and said with perfect composure: “This way, your highness.”

Eiffel followed quietly. It was the last thing he could do for him.

*

The worst thing about the cell wasn’t the darkness, or the isolation. Rhea knows he’d imagined both enough when thinking about the potential consequences of being caught with either Hera or Jacobi. No, the worst thing about it was the _dust._ He could barely feel his lungs move any more, and each laboured breath was accompanied by a mechanical wheezing and an almost unbearable pain.

The last person he expected or _wanted_ to see was Hilbert, who strode into his cell like an expected visitor.

“Eiffel,” he said, crouching low to be eye-level with him through the bars. “Can you breathe?”

 _What does it matter to you, traitor?_ “Does it _look_ like I can breathe?” He didn’t even know his voice was audible until Hilbert smiled. The effect was disconcerting.

“So. It is working well.” At Eiffel’s confused expression, he leaned forward closer and lowered his voice. “I put a tiny drop of… something _unpleasant_ in your water. Not enough to seriously harm,” he added, spreading out his hands in a placating gesture, “but enough to require a doctor. So we could talk _._ ”

Eiffel wanted to laugh in his face, but laughter required lung capacity. “What the _hell_ could you have to say to me? ‘Sorry for killing your uncle and dethroning the rightful queen, no hard feelings’?”

“I admit,” Hilbert said, with some difficulty, “that things could have gone… better.”

“You…” He struggled for breath, “You could _definitely_ say that. Tell me, was losing the lower city part of your plan? Was _Kepler_ part of your plan?”

“No,” Hilbert said, his lip curling in distaste. “It stopped being _my_ plan as soon as those… _incompetents_ arrived.”

“The _incompetents_ you invited?” _If Hilbert had poisoned him, he could at least die laughing at him,_ he thought, slightly delirious.

“Like I said,” he replied, “things could have gone better. I think we can come to a new arrangement. One that does _not_ involve Kepler. One that keeps you and your cousin alive.”

It wasn’t an offer he _wanted_ to accept, but he didn’t seem to have any other options. “What kind of arrangement?”

“You are going to say nothing to your guards. Play the hapless captive. I am going to contact Minkowski and Lovelace, and help them dispose of this… tyrant. This has gone on long enough.”

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because when we _succeed,_ you’ll tell Minkowski I told you first, and that I kept you _safe._ Persuade her I’m better off in exile than dead. I can afford to lay low for a few decades.”

 _You’ve done_ nothing _for me._ He wanted to spit the words into Hilbert’s face. Instead, he only nodded, weakly. Anything to get Minkowski back onto her throne, whether he lived to see it or not.

“Good.” Hilbert stood up, and he could hear his departing footsteps echoing down the corridor outside. They stopped abruptly, there was a distant conversation, and then the sound of much quicker footsteps approaching his cell. They slowed as a man approached, and, standing in the doorway of the gaol, he straightened up, looking every inch the perfect, emotionless guard.

“I brought water,” Jacobi murmured, passing it through the bars. He looked like hell; exhausted, hair standing up on end.

Eiffel drank deeply, and cracked a drained smile, “You look as bad as I feel, Lancelot.”

Jacobi couldn’t help the corner of his mouth turn up just slightly at the nickname. “It’s rough out there.”

He wheezed a laugh, “It’s pretty rough in here too. Want to trade?” He could tell him what Hilbert said, give him the chance to join them, to save Alana on his own… and risk him running straight back to Kepler. He kept his mouth shut.

Jacobi didn’t answer at first. “I’ll talk about getting you moved. There must be a cell that’s less… dusty.”

Eiffel shook his head, “He’d never agree. We both know that.” If Kepler had intended him to survive his imprisonment, he wouldn’t be here at all.

Nodding bitterly, Jacobi didn’t argue. The last thing he wanted to offer was false hope, so he kept his voice level, almost disinterested. “Is there anything else I can do for you, your highness?”

“One last favour?” He hoped he didn’t sound like he was pleading.

“Yeah?”

“Leave me a light? I don’t want to die in the darkness.” _I don’t want to die on my own._

Jacobi looked away sharply for a moment, and then turned his head back towards Eiffel. He blew gently on his palm, conjuring up a small, golden flame. He passed it through the bars, and let it settle on the stone floor. Not spreading, not devouring. Just lighting the way.

“Thank you.” _I loved you_.

“It’s nothing.” _I loved you too._

*

“Please tell me you’re not considering this.” Isabel’s dark eyes were absolutely serious. “Renée, _he killed your father._ ”

“I know. I know he’s a monster, and  I know we should never trust him, but if he’s telling the truth… We could end this war with only one more death. Surely that at least makes him worth hearing out.” She could still hear the screaming of people trapped in their burning homes. _No more deaths._

“If you think I’m risking _you_ on _his_ word - “

“It’s a strategic risk. He insists it has to be me, and I can handle Hilbert.” _And I need to save Eiffel._

Isabel sighed, running a hand through her hair. Neither of them had slept properly in days, and the air around them was still tense, almost frantic. “Let me go, at least. No - “ she held up a hand stopping Renée before she could speak. “Don’t argue with me. I let you run into the fire, now it’s my turn to do something stupid and life-threatening. Can’t let you have all the glory, right?”

Renée glared up at her, the fearsome expression thoroughly undermined by the tears in her eyes. “Neither of us _need_ glory _._ ” _I need_ you. “Promise me you’ll come back? Don’t do anything stupid and noble.”

Isabel held a fingertip to her face, wiping away a tear that had fallen. She smiled. “I always do, don’t I?” _Couldn’t even die properly the first time._ She always came back.

Renée grabbed her hand, holding it against her face, “Then promise me? Please?”

If this was her last moment, then she was going to take it. “Promise,” she murmured, fingertips pulling gently in red hair to pull her wife forward for their first, final kiss.

She left her standing there, frozen and kiss-stunned. She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t want to admit that she might not keep her promise to return. It was only after she’d gone that Renée raised her hands to cover her mouth and let out a quiet sob. _I love you. Come back. I love you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely Tuesday people! Lottie (goldtreesilvertree) here! This update is a pretty short one, but hopefully the number of Intense Feelings makes up for the length. To all our commenters, we love each and every one of your comments, and they really make this fic a rewarding experience for us. Brief reminder that we have a playlist for this fic on Spotify and also two more AUs to keep you going till Friday.
> 
> Next time: Lovelace lives up to her reputation, Minkowski begins siege negotiations, and Hera realises the risks of fraternising with the enemy. Also, illness, suffering, and what it's like to have stabbed three different governments in the back.


	14. xiii: be ready and be brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kepler strode into the room as if he owned it. The man who followed him looked significantly less enthusiastic. “Queen Isabel Lovelace, I presume? How exciting to meet a living legend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's title is from "Magpie" by the Mountain Goats.

The room which held  the exit to the tunnel was abandoned, dark, and dusty. In the quiet, the chancellor could easily hear the approaching footsteps, and flinched at the noise. Just because this corner of the palace was typically deserted didn’t mean the unexpected noise wouldn’t attract attention. The footsteps drew close to the door, then stopped.

He chanced a whisper through the door, “Princess Minkowski?” There was no reply. With a grunt, he heaved the panel aside, and stepped back quickly. The wrong queen stood before him.

“Guess again,” Isabel Lovelace said.

This… was not part of the plan. “ _Isabel?_ ”

“Well, well,” Lovelace said quietly, hand reaching for the hilt of her sword. “You really are a _cockroach._ ”

“Now is not the time for infighting, your majesty.” He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture doomed before it began, “While this may be a _surprise-_ ”

“A _surprise?_ ” It only took a second to draw her sword, and, in a flash of silver, press it to his throat. “Oh, no no. You, rising from the dead to continue being evil and hurting the people I love? That’s not a surprise. It’s an _opportunity._ ”

Pointing out that he’d never actually died seemed like a terrible idea. “This is an _opportunity_ for you to choose who you want to kill more - me, or the man running this _circus?_ The one who’s actually threatening your _lovely_ wife.”

She pressed a little harder, enjoying the way his eyes widened and he scrabbled for breath. “ _I can do both.”_

That was always the problem with _heroes._ “Do you really plan to take on the entire guard on your own?” No need to mention right now that most of them were out on the walls of the citadel.

“If that’s what it takes. Why _should_ I let you live?”

“Because I’m the only ally you have in the citadel at this time! What was it Sir Lambert used to say?”

There was an icy pause. Isabel lowered her sword in shock.

“What did you just say?”

“Lambert and his _endless_ little sayings from the code of chivalry. What was it… We don’t get to choose who we fight with, we don’t get to choose who we fight against, we only-”

A sword was too good for him. Isabel dropped it and went for a backhand across the face, letting her rings collide with his nose.

“Don’t,” she said, breathing heavily. “You don’t ever say that to me again.” She picked up her sword and sheathed it. “I’ll deal with you once Kepler’s dead. But I _will_ deal with you.”

There was a slow clap from the doorway. “ _Very_ impressive, your majesty. Ten out of ten for dramatic flair. Rather less for perception, I’m afraid.” Kepler strode into the room as if he owned it. The man who followed him looked significantly less enthusiastic. “Queen Isabel Lovelace, I presume? How _exciting_ to meet a living legend.”

Lovelace automatically positioned herself between Selberg and the intruder, and hated herself for it. He wasn’t her man any longer. “Colonel Kepler, I presume. Funny. I imagined someone more impressive.”

He _smiled._ “Well, the stories have certainly done _you_ justice. Particularly your sense of humour, which, I must admit, is _far_ more entertaining than the princess’s. How _is_ your wife, by the way?”

“Far out of your reach,” Isabel hissed. Thank the Gods _she’d_ been the one to go on this fool’s errand and not Renée. “Busy helping the people whose homes _you_ burned down.”

“Oh, how _sweet_ that that arrangement’s turned out so well for you both. Shame you aren’t going to have more time together.” His tone was light, casual, almost playful. Nobody in the room seemed to appreciate it.

“You think you can take both of us down?”

His smile widened. “I don’t think I’ll need to. Before, I only had your wife’s cousin to barter with. Now, I have _three_ hostages, and nobody’s ever called dear Renée hard-hearted. So tell me, your majesty, are you and your co-conspirator planning to come quietly? I’m sure the cells aren’t what you’re used to, but at the very least, you’ll get to know your new cousin-in-law.”

Isabel shook her head and tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. “Don’t think I can’t outfight you, colonel.”

“I don’t think I’ll put that to the test.” He stepped aside, gesturing to the man behind him with a flourish, “Sir Jacobi, a little light, please.”

The man who stood just behind the colonel looked at him with disgust, and then back to Lovelace. He appeared to be weighing his options as he addressed her directly. “Is Maxwell alive?” he asked, ignoring Kepler’s glare at his lack of immediate obedience.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “No point in a dead hostage… yet.”

Something in that seemed to comfort him. “All right,” Jacobi said, and clicked his fingers. A flame sprang up, illuminating his tired, almost resigned features. “Then I guess we’re doing this.”

Kepler’s smile returned. “ _Better._ Now; chancellor, your majesty, are you going to come quietly? I’d _hate_ to hand you back to Princess Minkowski as nothing but ash and bone.”

She might have risked it, were it not for the sorcerer. “I should have known you’d have someone to fight your battles _for_ you.” Nodding to Hilbert to signal that he should follow her lead, Isabel undid her sword belt and passed it to Kepler with more force than was strictly necessary.

“If you’d done the same, I’d only have two hostages now. Shame that, for someone who spends so much time creeping about, the chancellor is _very_ bad at recognizing when he’s being followed.” He turned to the sorcerer as he hefted the sword in his hands, testing the balance. “Go and introduce these two to our other hostage. I’m sure he’ll be _dying_ to see you. I have a meeting to arrange with our rebel princess.”

The look of disgust came back in full force. “Yes, _sir._ With me,” he barked shortly at the other two and lead them down the tunnel, his flame lighting the way.

Lovelace waited until they’d left Kepler out of earshot, then spoke: “So _you’re_ the sorcerer we’ve heard so much about? Tell me, do you usually burn down the homes of civilians and ignore armies at your door? That sounds a little counter-intuitive to me.”

“I do what he tells me.” He wasn’t looking at her but his voice sounded hollow, rehearsed.

“You don’t look like a man who enjoys his work. Do you _like_ being used as his attack dog? You don’t seem the type.” In truth, she’d seen very little of what he was like, aside from his obvious disgust for Kepler, but she could work with that. “Or is your relationship more one of convenience than loyalty, given Lady Alana’s current predicament?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he muttered sullenly. “Shouldn’t hostages be, I don’t know, seen and not heard?”

“I’ve never been good at that last part,” Lovelace shrugged, “But I would be _very_ interested to meet someone who _actually_ wants to ensure Dr Maxwell gets out of this alive, given that your master clearly isn’t that man.”

She stumbled as the flame in Jacobi’s hand extinguished and the tunnel turned pitch black. He’d stopped walking. “Fine. I’m listening.”

_There_ was the opening she’d been looking for. “Princess Minkowski and I have offered Kepler three different bargains that would have freed her. Very _generous_ bargains, some of them. He’s rejected every one. He couldn’t’ve known he’d get two more hostages, so what exactly has he been waiting for?”

_He has a plan. He always has a plan._ Jacobi had always been so sure of that, but this time, he stalled. Kepler wouldn’t leave _her_ to die. Him, sure, but not Maxwell. She was too valuable, too special. “Couldn’t he?” he asked, voice betraying nothing. “So impossible to imagine that we knew about your half-witted invasion attempt ahead of time? Hilbert isn’t exactly a master spy, you know.”

“It’s certainly possible to _imagine,_ but come on. If he wanted her back, she’d be back by now. He’s probably hoping we kill her before she turns traitor.” She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but she had to hope he was still interested. “What does he get if she lives, compared to if she dies?” A pissed-off sorcerer might be the only thing that could turn the tide of the siege in Kepler’s favour. She had to reduce the possibility of him getting one.

_If she dies, so does he._ “You really don’t know enough about Kepler to make this gambit work,” he said, almost apologetically, and flooded the tunnel with light again. “This way. No more talking.” It didn’t take long to reach the cells, and she noticed how he grew tenser the closer they got to them. Torchlight greeted them as they exited the tunnel. The prison layout hadn’t changed since she’d last seen them three hundred years ago. It didn’t look like they’d been cleaned in the same length of time, either. She could almost feel the soot and dust in the air.

“In here,” Jacobi ordered, leading them into a dimly-lit cell that already had an occupant.

The occupant attempted to rise, then gave up. “Guests?” he said, voice unexpectedly light-hearted in spite of its breathlessness, “Lancelot, you shouldn’t have!”

Lovelace watched carefully as their guard’s expression mingled fondness and worry under the emotionless mask he’d been trying so hard to keep in place. “You’re still alive, then,” he noted, relief evident in his voice.

“And you’re surprised? You have _no_ faith in me.” He looked past Jacobi to his new cellmates, “Particularly given the company you’re keeping these days. Chancellor, how does it feel to have stabbed three different governments in the back and survive?”

Hilbert snorted, “You’re very cocky for someone who’s been in a cell for three days.”

He shrugged, “No reason for a dying man to be modest, right?”

“Quiet,” Jacobi snapped, although whether at Hilbert or Eiffel’s gallows humour none of them were sure. He knelt down, surveying Eiffel’s red-rimmed eyes and laboured breathing. “I have every faith in you,” he murmured, so quietly that the other two couldn’t make out the words. “You’re not going to die.”

He smiled, weakly, “And you say you hate false hope. Who’s the lady?”

Jacobi straightened up. “Prince Eiffel: meet Queen Isabel Lovelace. I’m sure you two have lots to talk about,” he added, walking out of the cell and locking it behind him. He looked at Eiffel, and the torches outside glowed a little brighter as he left.

“Your majesty, I would get up and bow but I’m a little… indisposed at the minute,” he joked, more comforted by the torches than he would have liked to admit.

“Save your strength,” she said sadly. “Selberg - Hilbert - _whatever_ your name is now, go sit in that corner and don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear your voice tonight.” She sat down next to Eiffel, and noticed the little golden flame that shone valiantly beside him. “What’s feeding that fire?”

He grinned, “Magic! A little gift from our guard.” He nodded towards the cell door. “He’s… a better man than he seems.” _I hope._

“Interesting.” All those openings, and she still hadn’t gotten him to talk. “Are you hurt?”

“Not by anyone other than _him_.” He jerked his head towards Hilbert’s corner. “The good doctor thought a little poison would be easy to recover from in this cell. He was mistaken about that, and other things. We really shouldn’t let him make our escape plans.” He attempted to sit up again, this time succeeding. “How’s my cousin? Is she well?”

“Physically? Yes. Otherwise…” Isabel sighed. “She hasn’t slept, she’s commanding an army _alone_ to take back her _own_ kingdom, which is half-burned down, and she’s worried to death about you.”

“Sounds like my Minkowski. If there’s anyone who can break the siege before Kepler gets bloodthirsty, it’s her.” There was a pause, and then: “ _Gods_ , I hope I live to see her again.”

“You will,” Isabel said immediately, a little fiercer than she’d intended. “We _both_ will. I’m sure as hell not leaving her alone again.”

“I hope you’re right.” He grinned, slyly, “I need to show you where she kept the books of ballads she wrote about you when she was thirteen.”

“... _Ballads?”_

That was an easier topic: “Didn’t you know she was musical? She used to _love_ writing songs. Ridiculous, cheesy songs, but some of the rhymes were pretty clever. You were her favourite inspiration.”

_What a disappointment I must have been._ Not a fairytale princess, but a bitter, difficult old woman. “You’ll definitely have to show me those,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Once we get you out of here.”

“Once we _both_ get out of here,” he corrected her. “We’ll survive this.” _You at least have to get out of here. She can’t lose us both._ “And then we’ll make her sing again.”

*

“ _Colonel_.” Minkowski was pale, but did not look otherwise distressed by facing the man who’d taken her father, her kingdom, and now her wife. “I assume you’ve come to discuss the terms of your surrender? Or at the very least, terms of exchange for the hostages?”

“I see we’re getting straight to business,” Kepler said, amused. “What makes you think I’d surrender to _you?_ ”

Minkowski folded her arms. “It’s spring, Kepler. Do you know what they call this time of year? The Hungry Months. You don’t have the supplies for a long siege. We can outwait you.” _Even if we have to starve the city to do it._

“You can,” Kepler said, inclining his head, “but you won’t. You would never put that many civilians’ lives on the line, _princess_.”

Minkowski raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need to put their lives on the line. I just need to remind them who started this war, who burned down the lower city, and who is keeping the siege going. You might believe me merciful, colonel. Do you have the same faith in the mercy of the mob?”

“You’re riding by on the fairytale legend of Isabel Lovelace. When they see she’s merely _mortal…”_ he finished his sentence with a malicious smile.

Her hands clenched into fists. “What _exactly_ do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I have three hostages, two of whom are the most important people in the world to you, and you have… Well. An underling, and not one I’m particularly fond of.”

From Minkowski’s side, Hera bristled, but said nothing.

It was easier not to react with an angry dragon at her side. “So. You think _threatening_ me is the way to get me to surrender to you? You’re going to have to be a _little_ more convincing than that.”

“I suppose we’re at an impasse. How dull.” He waved a hand to the battlements. “Let’s make things a little more _interesting_.”

She looked in the direction of his gesture. A gallows had already been constructed up there the day before. She would have commented that its presence was no more of a threat than his words, but then she saw the figure being dragged out to the wooden platform. “Nothing to say, _princess?_ Surrender now, and I’ll call it off. You can still save your chancellor. I’ll give you ten, nine…” He continued his countdown, as she stared, transfixed in horror. She could save him. She could doom the kingdom. So she stood in silence, and watched as the trapdoor fell. She could almost hear the snap as his neck broke. Then Hilbert hung limp as a child’s doll, swaying in the slight breeze.

With an effort, she turned to Kepler. “I will give you one warning. The next one of my people to die will take your Lady Alana with them.”

He smiled, “At last we understand each other. You have two days. This time tomorrow, your cousin dies. This time the day after, Lovelace. After that…” He paused, and his smile widened. “I’ll have to get _creative._ I’ve met plenty of people in your lovely citadel. Perhaps losing some of them will awake your conscience.” He turned to leave, then added, “Time’s ticking, Princess Minkowski. Let me know once you’ve made the right choice.”

Minkowski waited until the gates had closed behind him, then turned to Hera. “How close are we to getting into the city?”

Hera shook her head, “There’s no way we can make it before noon tomorrow-”

“ _Find a way._ Any longer and she has to die. You know that as well as I do.” She strode off, pale as death, and ducked into her tent. The sounds of the army were drowned out by the screams of the burning and the creak of the gallows. She could still hear it. She would _always_ hear it. And she would never forget how _small_ Hilbert had looked in that moment. How insignificant. _I could have saved him._

*

Hera flitted ahead of the others as soon as she could get a moment alone, and went straight into the tent where Alana had been secured. Her silver eyes scanned the space inside, and, finding the woman unharmed, she relaxed slightly.

“Doctor,” she said calmly, as if she hadn’t just burst into the tent unannounced. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

Maxwell blinked, slightly stunned by the light, “You’re… back.” She stated the obvious. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.” She’d almost thought she’d been forgotten by everyone but her guards. Being remembered was not as reassuring as she’d imagined.

“I wouldn’t forget about you,” Hera said, as if she’d read her mind. “The camp has been… busy.”

“I could hear. What was all the fuss about?” The _fuss_ hadn’t been noise, exactly. More a vast, terrified silence stretching the length of the camp.

Hera paused before she picked her words. “The colonel killed a hostage. Hilbert. This morning.”

Alana paled. A fae-blessed longevity was nothing to the gallows. “How many does he have left?”

“Two. Eiffel… and Lovelace.” Hera wasn’t sure that Minkowski would want her telling Alana this, but she didn’t have to listen to human orders if she didn’t want to.

“Ah.” Alana curled her shaking hands into fists. “So it’s me next. _That’s_ why you’re here.” She felt her breath begin to quicken, “When’s he killing the next one? A week? An hour? Hera, you have to tell me-”

“Tomorrow.” One more day, and then… “That’s not why I’m here.”

Alana stared up at the other woman - no, the _dragon_ in front of her, “Then why _are_ you here, Hera?”

Hera sat, cross-legged, and stared at her hands. She almost looked like a girl again. “I relieved your guards.”

“ _Why?_ To relive old times? To _lie_ to me some more?” Alana heard her voice crack, and blinked back tears. “I don’t understand you, Hera.”

“ _So none of the humans get jumpy!_ ” Hera shouted, forgetting herself. “Sorry. _Stupid…_ Look, I will leave you alone if you’d rather, but I think you’ve got a better chance of staying alive with me here, okay?”

Alana drew her knees into her chest, wrapping her bound arms around them. “...Thank you. I still don’t understand you, but thank you.” There was a silence, then: “I’m… sorry for what I said about your mother. I didn’t know what I was saying, but I knew it would hurt.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it, but it seemed the right thing to say.

“I do look like her,” Hera said sullenly, picking at her nails. “More so than any of my sisters. I _hate_ it.”

“I can imagine. I don’t really… get on with my family.” _That_ was an understatement. “They aren’t people I would want to be associated with either. I never really thought of _dragons_ as having families to argue with.”

“Well, we do. Or used to. Just me now.” She continued to stare at the floor. When she spoke, her words were quiet and soft. “You can’t imagine what it’s like, having people you can _lose_ again.”

“I know it _hurts._ ” That had been the worst thing about getting attached to Jacobi. Having a brother meant potentially losing one. “But is it worse than being alone?” She didn’t know the answer to that question herself. She wondered if, up in the citadel, he was thinking the same thing.

“Apparently not, seeing as you haven’t asked me to leave.”

She could almost have laughed. “ _I’m_ not going to be losing anyone tomorrow. I’m not going to be losing anyone I care about ever again.” She’d never thought she would be the one to die first. She was _clever,_ she was _careful_ , she was always going to outlive them all - until she wasn’t.

“Would you believe me if I said I wouldn’t let you die?” Hera asked, finally looking up at her.

“I don’t know what to believe any more.” She’d thought Kepler wouldn’t let her die. She’d thought _Jacobi…_ It didn’t matter what she’d thought. She’d been wrong too many times. And now that was going to cost her… “I never thought I’d actually get to meet a dragon.”

Caught by surprise, Hera laughed and batted her lashes teasingly. “Was I everything you dreamed?”

“You were… everything.” It was true, even when held against the lies. “I was going to rewrite my books with you. Not that it matters any more. I suppose they’d’ve been much more accurate with an actual dragon as a co-writer, if only by accident.” She looked up at Hera. “Rewrite them for me when I’m gone?” It was only half a joke.

Hera didn’t say anything. She stretched her arms behind her and leaned her head down inch by inch until it was resting on Alana’s knee. “I really did like your books.”

Alana rested her hands in her starlight hair. _I really liked_ you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Friday, what can I say? A moment of silence for Hilbert, who only shows up in like four scenes in this fic because neither of us like writing him. Shout-out to our regular commenters, kudos-ers, and general well-wishers: let us know your thoughts and we'll see you when the war continues on Tuesday!


	15. xiv: glory and gore go hand in hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing that could quieten the whisper in her mind: _You could still save her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Glory and Gore" by Lorde.
> 
> Content warning for **graphic violence**

Eiffel had been staring at the cell door since Hilbert had been dragged out of it. As though he expected him to come back. As though he was terrified of what it would mean if he didn’t. The poison was wearing off, but his breath didn’t come any easier. 

“What do you think they took him for?” he asked, at last.

Isabel was half-tempted to snap  _ what do you think?!,  _ but held her tongue. “Questioning?” she offered up lamely.

He closed his eyes. “You think they’ve executed him, don’t you?”

“I think three hostages is a crowd,” she said. “I think the bastards robbed me of the chance to do it myself.”

“I think  _ all _ of us had a stake in ‘let’s kill Hilbert’.” He leaned back against the stone wall. “It’s still hard to believe he’s dead, though. Do you think Minkowski knows?”

“She’ll know. It will have come with some kind of ultimatum, a deadline.” One of them would be next, obviously, but which one? And how could she make sure it wasn’t Eiffel? “They wouldn’t just kill him quietly, they’ll have done it to send a message.”

“She won’t cave to them.” He didn’t know whether that was a relief any more. “She’ll save the city. She’ll save  _ us _ . She always has before.” He said it as though hearing the words out loud would make them easier to believe.

“That’s a lot to put on one person,” Lovelace sighed. “But if anyone could…” She fell silent as footsteps echoed down the corridor. Only one set. Hilbert was dead, then.

Kepler’s shadow blotted out the torchlight. “I hope the two of you have been sitting comfortably.” 

Eiffel glared at him. “Where’s Hilbert?”

“And we’re finished with the pleasantries already? What on  _ earth _ did he see in you?” He looked between Eiffel and Lovelace, or rather at the golden glow cast onto their faces. “Clearly enough to give you something  _ very  _ precious. I wonder if it will go out when I execute you tomorrow? That would be poetic, wouldn’t it?”

Eiffel and Lovelace both stiffened. She almost grabbed his hand.

The prince slowly folded his arms and stared at Kepler. “You really want to talk about him  _ now? _ You have an army at your gates and you’re going to whine about me  _ taking him away from you? _ Do you even know what a priority  _ looks _ like any more?”

“Eiffel,” Lovelace hissed, “ _ shut up. _ ” Kepler’s face was going an interesting shade of sadistic.

“No, I think I’ll hear what he has to say.” He stepped closer to the bars, and crouched to be on the same eye-level as Eiffel. “Well,  _ your highness? _ Are you really going to lecture me about priorities from your prison cell? I’d think you’d have bigger concerns, but let’s talk about my second-in-command, who you clearly know so well that you’re free as a bird right now, while I’m locked away like the villain that I am. How does that happy ending sound?”

_ It was a nice marriage while it lasted, Minkowski.  _ “Fuck you,” Lovelace said suddenly, breaking the intense atmosphere between the two men.

Kepler blinked at her almost as though he’d forgotten she existed. “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

“You heard me. You have got to stop giving these fucking  _ speeches  _ if you don’t want me to die of boredom before you can get me to the gallows.” She glared at him, directing all her hate into the stare. “You parade around like you’re the savior of this kingdom but you’re not even  _ interesting.  _ Just a big, dumb brute with delusions of power. Practically a  _ mercenary _ .”

“Oh. You’re  _ funny _ .” His eyes glittered as he turned to Lovelace. “Tell me, how much of you do you think we  _ need  _ to return to your wife tomorrow? You’d be  _ amazed  _ at how much a good sorcerer can remove and still leave you alive. Particularly when every wound is  _ cauterised _ .” He started to smile. “And unlike the prince over there? Sir Jacobi will have no qualms about taking you apart. Is that a risk you’d like to take,  _ your majesty? _ ”

Eiffel paled, “ _ Lovelace, _ ” he hissed, “don’t antagonise-”

_ It’s not enough.  _ “I’m starting to feel like being burned alive would be preferable to listening to another damned word from out of your mouth.”  

“And to think they tell stories of your charm.” He looked her over. “You know what I’m looking at right now? Not a legend. Not a hero. Just a bitter, broken woman three hundred years out of time. Executing you is practically going to be a  _ mercy. _ ”

Isabel spat at his feet. “I don’t give a damn what you think of me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m thinking that putting you out of your misery  _ now  _ rather than tomorrow would be kinder for both of us.” He stood. “Well, now that we have  _ that _ over with, I suppose I should congratulate you on your extra time, Prince Eiffel. Your life expectancy just doubled.” He turned on his heel, and left the cells. 

Eiffel turned on Lovelace: “ _ What the hell was that?  _ Do you  _ want  _ to die tomorrow? What were you think-”

Isabel waved his protests aside. She suddenly felt very young, and very tired. “We got you an extra day. Don’t spend it arguing with me.”

Eiffel looked devastated, the weight of what she’d done hanging on him. “You didn’t have to -”

“Yes, I did.” She smiled sadly, thinking of all the stories her wife had told her about her cousin Eiffel. “It’s okay. It really is.”

The cell was quiet, but for the little fire burning. They both huddled close to it, and tried not to count seconds (minutes,  _ hours _ ) in the dark of the cell. Nobody came for them.

*

Minkowski stared at the parchment scrap in front of her, barely registering the words etched onto it. 

_ As a correction to our earlier schedule of entertainments, we must state that the pretender claiming to be Queen Isabel Lovelace will be executed at noon tomorrow. Her survival will be guaranteed by any surrender before that time, accompanied by the release of Dr Alana Maxwell. _

The phrases ran before her eyes, scrambled and disjointed ( _ the pretender - executed - surrender - Isabel Isabel Isabel _ ) until she felt like screaming. Instead, she crumpled the note between her fingers, and turned to Hera.

“Is there any way we can crack the citadel before then?” Her lips felt numb, the words alien to her. 

Hera seemed incredibly reluctant to answer. “I’m not sure.”

Her head snapped up, cheeks pale but eyes fever-bright, “What do you mean,  _ you’re not sure? _ ” Her fear was leaking into her voice, and she tried desperately to rein herself in. “Tell me, is it possible? Could we stop this?”

“I…” She hung her head. “No. Not by force. We just don’t have the men, and me flying in and torching the place won’t exactly help.”

“You could fly up, grab her off the battlements…” She shook her head, already dismissing the plan, “and they’d kill her the moment they saw you, right?”

“Probably. I am… not exactly inconspicuous.”

Minkowski laughed, high and bitter and humourless, “No, I suppose you’re not. Gods…” She rested her head in her hands, “This is really happening, isn’t it? They’re really doing this.”

“They are. And we’re not like them,” Hera said, slowly, as if trying to broach a subject that she would really rather have avoided. “Or, I mean, you’re not. Are you?”

Minkowski raised her head. There were no tears, no trembling, no sign of any deliberation. Her voice was icy when she spoke: “Maybe now I have to be.”

“ _ No.” _

Minkowski’s hands clenched into fists. “We don’t have a  _ choice, _ Hera! You think I  _ want  _ to do this? He’s just going to keep coming for us, for the people I love, until we have  _ nothing  _ left! Is she really worth that much to you? Worth the lives of every man, woman and child in that citadel? Worth the  _ kingdom? _ How much are you going to sacrifice for her?”

Hera’s eyes flared and she hissed:  _ “It’s not my kingdom. _ ”

Minkowski wanted to start to her feet, to shout her down, but there was no sane way to shout down a dragon. Instead, she looked at her with a painful understanding. “You’ve been here longer than all of us. This is your kingdom, these are your  _ people, _ just as much as they are mine, or Isabel’s, or anyone else who’s chosen to stand with us. If that didn’t mean anything to you, you’d never have come out of hiding for this. You care, whether you’ll admit it or not. And so, like me, you’ll sacrifice for it. Or you’ll regret it for the rest of your existence.”

“That was a very pretty speech,  _ your majesty,  _ but I’m  _ not  _ like you. If she dies they’ll just kill Eiffel as well. It won’t stop anything. If she dies it’ll be because  _ you  _ wanted to kill her.” She stared coolly, unwavering. “Don’t presume to know my regrets.”

“She dies because there is a  _ cost  _ to this, Hera. And I’m paying every scrap of pain you are into this war. You think  _ I  _ want to see my wife up there tomorrow? To watch her hang and do  _ nothing? _ ” She paused, gulped back tears, and continued. “But we don’t get a choice. Because you know what this army will do if I don’t stand by my word tomorrow? They won’t be an army any more. They’ll be a mob and they’ll want  _ blood. _ And it might not be mine, and it might not be yours, but it will  _ certainly  _ be hers. And if I don’t prove I’m strong enough to stand against Kepler, they’ll tear us apart, and all this will have been for  _ nothing. _ ”

“So I should  _ let  _ you kill her to stop another petty human from killing her? I don’t need to bow to  _ any  _ of you.”

Minkowski snapped. “ _ So take her. _ Run away to your little cave for the next three-hundred years and  _ hide. _ Because you will have no friend in this land if Isabel Lovelace dies and your little  _ witch  _ lives. You think I didn’t want a happy ending to this? You want to make me the villain in your little story of  _ petty human emotions  _ and  _ petty human lives? _ Fine. You do that. But choosing her over the rest of us doesn’t make you special, or clever, or beyond all this. It means you chose  _ one girl _ over a kingdom who needed you. So don’t come crying to me when I’ve been offered the same choice.”

Hera stamped her foot, and for a second Minkowski thought she was going to be burned alive right there and then. Then an almost-calm descended in the silence that followed. Hera’s features didn’t grow any softer, but she did look away humbly and sigh. “I’m not saying you’re right,” she said, “but I know what my sister would do. I’ll get back to the siege for you.”

Minkowski was silenced. What did one say to that?  _ I’m sorry? I wish things could be different?  _ She watched the dragon’s retreating figure. “I wish I could save them both. I wish I could save  _ anyone. _ ” She knew what Isabel would have advised her to do, what she would have insisted. It didn’t make putting the scrap of parchment aside any easier. There was nothing that could quieten the whisper in her mind:  _ You could still save her. _

*

Eiffel wasn’t sure if the sun was unforgivingly bright on top of the walls or if his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness of his cell. Either way, it was a beautiful day for an execution. Lovelace seemed unswayed, unshaken, as the two of them were shoved up the steps of the hastily-assembled gallows. From here, they could see the army encamped in the wreckage of the lower city, hundreds of upturned faces staring up at the battlements, at  _ them _ . There was a clearing near the foot of the walls, however, in which only three small, female figures were visible. Red hair, brown hair, white hair, the central figure being held fast by the first, in a gown so white it was visible from the battlements.  _ Maxwell.  _ He chanced a look at Jacobi, who was staring in pale fear at the same spot, only unmoving because of Kepler’s hand on his arm.

If Jacobi looked terrified, Kepler looked… anticipatory. He looked at the two prisoners, at the sorcerer, at the cluster of three women below. 

“Well, we’re all together at last. Everyone in your places? Ready for the show to begin?” Nobody answered him. Jacobi looked one moment away from burning the lot of them to embers, and Kepler had clearly noticed, as his next words were inaudible to everyone but the sorcerer. Whatever he said, it was enough to allow him to pull free of Kepler’s grasp and stride over to Eiffel.

“Come stand by me,” he murmured quietly, leading him away from Lovelace. “You don’t have to watch this.”

“Oh, but he does,” Kepler’s smile was bloodthirsty, monstrous, “It’s not every day we get to see a  legend  die. Any last words, Lovelace? I’ll make sure they go down in  _ history. _ ”

Isabel didn’t even deign to look at him, turning her gaze to Eiffel instead. “Tell her this isn’t her fault,” she said quietly. “And it isn’t yours either.”

Eiffel dropped his gaze from hers. A  _ hero  _ would save her right now. Minkowski would save her if their positions were exchanged. But he was no hero, and he could only watch as the noose was looped around her neck. She stood, tall and proud and  _ glorious _ for a moment, and then the trapdoor dropped. He heard the  _ crunch  _ as her neck snapped, and someone screamed.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then: a flash of red from the encampment. The white dress was now an unmistakable scarlet. He felt a flash of heat from beside him and reached out to touch the sorcerer in spite of himself, but withdrew his hand just as quickly as he touched red-hot skin. Jacobi  _ burned  _ and shook as, on the ground below, Hera stretched and  _ changed  _ into her true form, catching the body Minkowski had lowered to the ground in her claws. The gleaming form of the dragon rose from the battlefield, above the city walls, and  _ dove. _ The gallows splintered with a  _ screech  _ as she tore through them and just as quickly rose to circle the palace itself. Lovelace’s body was gone, dangling from the claws of the dragon. On the ground and on the walls alike, time was frozen for a few horrified moments that could have been seconds or centuries. 

It was Jacobi who broke the silence. He  _ snarled,  _ starting forward with his whole arm glowing in flame, ready to hurl hellfire down on Minkowski and her entire army. Kepler barked an order, but he heard nothing. Maxwell’s name beat in his chest like the heart he’d given up, and his only thoughts were of avenging her. After that, Kepler could do whatever the hell he liked to him. He didn’t care anymore.

Eiffel moved quickly in front of him. “ _ Don’t _ . Please.” It wasn’t an order. “Don’t do this.” Smoke was already starting to curl in the splintered wood around Jacobi’s feet, and the heat was too intense for anybody to get close to him. He tried anyway, bound hands held up as though to protect his face or reach out to the other man. 

“ _ Get out of my way, _ ” Jacobi growled, sounding more animal than human in his rage.

“ _ No. _ ” He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t a hero. But  _ this,  _ he could do. “I won’t let you do this.”

“You can’t  _ stop  _ me,” Jacobi almost laughed. “No-one can _.  _ Not even  _ him. Move. _ ”

Still, he stood against the heat, the smoke, the flames, as the ropes around his wrists fell away, scorched and brittle. “No. You want to burn them all? Fine. You take me with them.”  _ This is my kingdom too. They are my people too. _

Incredibly, a smile worked its way onto Jacobi’s face. A nasty, bitter thing. “No, nobody gets the kingdom. Nobody goes home.  _ I  _ can’t.” He’d never had a home until Maxwell, his first real friend. His  _ sister. _ He should have paid closer attention to her and the dragon brat instead of getting wrapped up in his own petty difficulties, and now she’d suffered for it. He couldn’t go on with that knowledge inside of him. “You want to stand in the way? Fine. Be a martyr. There’s  _ plenty  _ of it going around.”

_ You’re better than this. _ “Do it, then. Burn us all. Burn the world down, if that’s what you really want. But you’re going to have to burn me first, because I won’t watch you do this.” He managed one more step towards the sorcerer, and wondered if this was how it felt to burn alive. Even  _ Kepler  _ looked afraid.

Jacobi faltered, ever so slightly. “I can’t go home,” he said again, flames licking his skin and dancing around his feet. They wouldn’t go near Eiffel.

Eiffel held out a hand to take Jacobi’s arm. He could survive a little more burning. The prince bridged the gap between them, and pulled the sorcerer close, the flames shying away from his touch. “I’ll be your home,” he whispered. It wasn’t a promise he could keep, but it was all he could offer.

The flames disappeared as the first tear finally fell. There was silence on the battlements as the smoke from suddenly-extinguished fires rose up into the sky.

Jacobi sank to his knees, and sobbed.

*

For the first time since the start of the war, there was silence in the camp. The figures on the battlements were visible to all, as Kepler had likely intended. Even Maxwell was still and subdued, in spite of the knife to her throat. Minkowski couldn’t see her face, so close were they standing, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Hera’s. The dragon had insisted on being present for this, and Minkowski couldn’t blame her. They were both losing someone they loved today, after all. 

Kepler was saying something up on the walls, far out of earshot. Half of her wanted to scream at him to get it over with, already. The other half wanted him to talk until the sun burned out. She watched, transfixed and unmoving as if trapped in some nightmare, as Kepler drew back, as the sorcerer drew the shorter prisoner - Eiffel? - towards the back of the stage. As the noose was placed around Isabel’s neck. As the trapdoor  _ dropped _ . 

It was as though the foundations of the world had been ripped out, watching her fall, watching her hang. Everything faded but the silhouette of that figure, but the horror of that moment. And yet, as she drew the knife across Maxwell’s throat, felt the hot rush of blood spill over both of them, everything felt clear and sharp as crystal. 

She lowered herself to her knees as the dying woman sank against her, holding her almost gently. Someone was screaming. It could have been her.  _ Isabel was dead _ . The world had narrowed and twisted around that dagger-sharp truth. Maxwell sputtered, struggled in her arms, but none of that mattered.  _ Isabel was dead. _

The air  _ cracked  _ with the shock of Hera’s transformation, and she was yanked sharply back to reality as the still-warm body was pulled from her arms. She knelt, unmoving and sticky with blood, as the dragon spiralled away from her, eyes unmoving from the hanging figure on the battlements. She couldn’t blame Hera for fleeing. She almost envied her.

The rush of cold became another shockwave as Hera slammed through the gallows, and Isabel was gone. She could see the scuffle on the battlements, knew she should draw back, but she couldn’t will her limbs to move. If the sorcerer burned her now, so be it.  _ Isabel was dead. _ Fire had nothing to that.

Slowly, after seconds, or hours, or days, she got to her feet, stiffly, like a woman old before her time. As she walked back towards her tent, the crowds parted before her, awed and afraid in equal measure. It meant nothing.

_ I could have saved her. _

*

Jacobi had stopped howling, but no-one could move him from Eiffel’s grip - not that anyone had  _ tried.  _ No-one would go near either of them, and so the company on the battlements stood watching in delayed horror as the sorcerer who had come so close to killing them all sobbed into the prince’s shoulder, utterly vulnerable, utterly defeated. 

Kepler hadn’t tried, either. Jacobi’s magic had been his to command for so long, he’d forgotten what sort of a person he’d had tethered. What kind of a  _ power.  _ And now, his  _ pet sorcerer  _ had slipped the jesses.

The prince glared up at him from over Jacobi’s bowed shoulders, arms cradling him  _ protectively _ , utterly oblivious to the destructive power in his hands.  _ Look what you’ve done. _

Kepler turned to the guards, who still stood as they had been before the dragon’s flight, eyes wide, mouths agape. 

“Clear up this mess,” he snapped, and they obeyed as best they could while giving the prince and the sorcerer a wide berth. The pair remained motionless, curled together amid the ashes, and he still could not bring himself to approach them.

“The smoke,” Jacobi murmured repeatedly, sounding almost nonsensical as he tried to find language again after his outburst of magic. “You shouldn’t be breathing this in.”

Eiffel shushed him tenderly. “I can handle a little smoke. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

Kepler wanted to interrupt, to order the prisoner back to his cell, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Let Jacobi keep the boy (or vice versa) if it kept the castle standing.

After a while, Jacobi stood up slowly, limbs trembling. His sudden outpouring of magic had nearly wiped him out, and the sleepless nights were also taking their toll. It didn’t diminish the raw hatred in his eyes as he turned to look at Kepler.  _ “You, _ ” he hissed.

He actually had to  _ restrain  _ himself from flinching. “You’ve burned yourself out for the day with that little outburst,  _ Sir _ Jacobi. Take the prisoner and get yourself cleaned up.” He held the furious gaze as Eiffel stood and wrapped an arm around the shaking man, supporting him.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, softly, almost ignoring Kepler, but Jacobi remained motionless for a moment more, as though with the power of his gaze alone he could reduce him to a pile of ash.

“He’s not our prisoner,” Jacobi said. He had enough magic left to burn Kepler to the ground, even if he’d collapse at the end of it, but somehow managed to restrain himself. “I’m not taking him back there.”

Kepler waved a dismissive hand. “Take him where you like, it hardly matters to me.” A lie, but that didn’t matter either. “Just  _ get yourself under control. _ ”

“Do you even care?” Jacobi leaned against Eiffel a little more as another wave of exhaustion hit him. They’d spent years together, with Alana, planning and fighting, yes, but also  _ living  _ together, travelling, cooking dinners, making jokes… “Do you even  _ care  _ that she’s- that she’s  _ dead? _ ”

Kepler held his gaze as the fire in his eyes faded, as he sagged against the prince’s shoulder. When he finally spoke, it was soft, almost gentle: “Would it matter if I said I did?”

“Only if it’s the truth.”

He said nothing, watching Jacobi’s expression melt from rage to disgust. It didn’t matter whether he cared or not. Jacobi would never believe him again. For the first time in a very long time, Warren Kepler  _ doubted  _ himself. While today might have broken the princess and her army, was it worth the cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, Lottie (goldtreesilvertree) here! _Really_ looking forward to your comments here, this is definitely the chapter I'm proudest of. Feel free to yell loudly until Ada brings you your Friday update. As usual, you can find me on Tumblr as lottiesnotebook, and Ada as captainlovelxce. Can't wait to hear what you think!


	16. xv: in all its bitter tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever changed on the Shuttle, aside from the occupant of the slab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter title is from "This Will End" by The Oh Hello's.

Jacobi didn’t say a word as Eiffel half-led, half-dragged him back to the rooms where they’d last spent the night together. Whether that was out of exhaustion or just pure misery, Eiffel wasn’t sure. He could tell just how much that display of power had weakened his already tired body and worried that they wouldn’t even make it inside before the sorcerer collapsed. Somehow, Jacobi kept on walking until they did.

He folded onto the couch as soon as the door closed behind them. The rooms hadn’t changed at all since the last time they’d met here - since his arrest. It had been less than a week. It had been an eternity. Eiffel busied himself with small things - lighting a fire, dragging in a blanket from the bedroom to cover them both. There weren’t any words for this moment.

“Why do you think Hera took her?” Jacobi asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Eiffel blinked at the unexpected question. “She’s fae. Maybe… maybe in her own strange way, she cared for her.” He’d certainly had that impression from the weeks they’d spent together in the palace.

“They could have at least given us the _body_ ,” Jacobi said. “She deserves a real funeral. Lovelace too,” he amended quickly, finally remembering that Eiffel had also lost someone. Not that it held a candle to _her. No-one could._

“We all deserve a chance to say goodbye. You most of all.” He didn’t know how his cousin felt about her legendary wife as a spouse rather than a hero. He did know what it was like to have a sister, and the fear of losing her. “Whatever Hera’s plans, I doubt they include… _harming_ them.” As if either of them could suffer any more.

Jacobi rested his head on Eiffel’s shoulder, but wouldn’t close his eyes. “She’d better not,” he said darkly. “She’s not the only person with fire here.”

Eiffel wrapped an arm around him, placing an absent-minded kiss on the side of his head. “She wouldn’t. She’s a dragon, not…” He’d meant to say _a monster_ , but his voice tailed off. What did he know of monsters any more? “She’s not Kepler,” he finished, weakly. “If she took the bodies for any reason other than her own grief, it won’t be a cruel one.” He hoped that was true.

“She doesn’t have the right. She knew Alana for a few _weeks._ We spent _years_ together.“ He went quiet for a few moments, and Eiffel almost thought he’d finally fallen asleep. Then: “I scared him, didn’t I?”

“You _terrified_ him. I’ve never seen him look shaken before.” If today had had a single bright moment, that had been it. He’d never wanted to see someone in _fear_ before, but that _bastard_ … War didn’t bring out the best in anyone.

He almost smiled. “Good.”

“He deserved it.” He’d _deserved_ to end the day a scorched silhouette on the battlements, but killing Kepler wouldn’t have helped Jacobi. It wouldn’t have brought her back. “You did brilliantly, though. You could have taken the entire castle with you, but you held yourself back.”

“If I’d just done that a few days earlier, I could have _saved_ her. Killed Kepler. Set you free. Made the trade. _Stupid._ ”

“Sh, don’t talk that way. You did all you could do. You didn’t know he wasn’t going to make the trade.” And neither of them had expected Minkowski to actually go through with killing her hostage. He’d never seen his cousin so… _ruthless_ before.

“I should have known. I shouldn’t have underestimated _her._ ” He paused, and pulled away slightly. “You know I can’t stay here.”

 _And you know I can’t leave._ “We don’t have to think about that now. We just need to survive until the siege ends, one way or another. I doubt anyone’s planning to execute me tomorrow any more, at least.”

“I wouldn’t let them. But unless you want me to carry out a few executions of my own, I need to be gone before that…” He stopped himself just in time, letting viler words twist around his throat before continuing: “before your _cousin_ gets here. And I need to find Maxwell. She deserves a real burial, not whatever that was.”

“They both do.” He paused, then: “There’s still that castle in the mountains, you know. We could run, tonight. Forget the kingdom. Forget the war.”

“Get a farm?” A laugh escaped Jacobi, which quickly turned into a sob. His shoulders shook, but he composed himself. He was too tired to break down again. His eyes hurt with the effort of keeping them open, but every time he closed them he could see that flash of red.

“Whatever you like. Can you imagine me on a farm?” His voice softened, as though telling a bedtime story. “I’d leave the chicken coop open, we’d have to spend all day chasing them down and stopping them doing… whatever aggressive chickens do. And the farmhouse would be a mess because neither of us are used to picking up after ourselves…” He kept talking, spinning out a story of a life that they’d never live. A life together. “Can you see it? Us, the most useless farmers in the empire. Nobody would know how we met. We could forget all of this. Live quiet lives neither of us were meant for. Drive each other completely mad in the process.”

He felt Jacobi’s breathing soften and deepen, his head growing heavy against his shoulder. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable position to sleep in, but for now, it would do. For now, he could hold him, and let the world outside run mad without them. It was all they had.

*

Hera took the utmost care in laying Alana’s head down on the stone slab, gently smoothing her hair out of her eyes and adjusting the blood-stained dress. The island was completely still; not a breeze in the air or a falling leaf. The way it had always been. Nothing ever changed on the Shuttle, aside from the occupant of the slab.

No-one could have described Alana Maxwell as looking peaceful, even on the island. Hera had not had time to close her eyes before they stiffened, and so she was staring up in unmoving horror at the sky. The blood on her neck was still there, not quite masking an ugly open wound. But Hera looked at her like a precious thing, to be cared for and protected, ignoring the gore that covered her throat and gown, and matted into her dark hair.

“Come on now,” she muttered, fussing with the body on the slab. “Come on, I did everything right. _Better_ than Rhea did, even. I _know_ I did.” Maxwell remained still. Why wouldn’t she just _move?_ It shouldn’t take three-hundred years this time. It shouldn’t have needed to the first time.

She strode over to Lovelace’s body, laid out less carefully on the grass. “What did she do to you?” she asked the body, searching her sister’s spellwork with her own magic. “You were just as dead when she brought you here! What did you have that she doesn’t?” Dragons didn’t cry, but Hera could think of no other reason for the lump in her throat. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she just wasn’t _good enough._

Alana would have straightened her braids, kissed her, told her _you’re perfect._ Alana would have meant it, in spite of the lies, in spite of the betrayal, in spite of _everything_. Alana, who remained horribly _still_ on the slab. Why couldn’t she just _move?_ She hadn’t been made for _stillness,_ she’d been active, intense, _grumpy,_ but never still. She wasn’t meant to be so still.

She flopped down on the ground, idly picking at grass with her fingers and trying not to cry. She could watch the sunrise with these two humans, and then leave the human realm for good. Maybe her mother would even take her back into Faerie if she grovelled enough. She wasn’t cut out for living with humankind.

Her mother had always said that the fae had no place among the mortals. They were so _small_ , so insignificant, less than insects… and yet they could mean so much. _Hurt_ so much. Burn so brightly and die so fast. _Nothing_ should have that power. Not over the fae.

“You weren’t small,” she murmured, reaching up a hand to trail her fingers through a lock of Alana’s hair. “You were _infinite._ I thought I was better than you, and I was wrong. I could have saved you. I _failed._ ”

She’d failed _again._ She’d failed at Camlann, when Rhea had ordered her to flee and she’d obeyed. She’d failed Eiffel when she hadn’t dragged him from the castle. She’d failed Lovelace and Minkowski the moment she’d kissed Alana, and Minkowski had failed her in turn by killing her, and she’d fled _again._ And none of it made any difference. The sun was rising, and it didn’t make any difference.

Lost in self-pity, she almost didn’t hear the gasp.

*

The sun had set hours ago, and it didn’t make any difference. The day had been hushed, after the deaths, as though camp and citadel alike were holding their breaths. She’d tried to go back to what she had been doing, to coordinate attacks on the weak point of the wall where the fire had been, but eventually she’d been banished to her tent with the advice to get what sleep she could before the wall came down.

People kept flinching away as she passed. As though she was still soaked in Maxwell’s blood. It didn’t matter that she’d washed, changed, and washed again. She could still feel the blood, cloying and clotting on her hands, her arms, her shirt. It seemed it would stain her forever now. Maxwell’s blood. Lovelace’s blood. She might as well start bathing in the stuff, it would make her about as clean as water could.

The tent was dark, quiet, empty. She hadn’t set foot in it since the last time they’d been together. Sleep could wait till Lovelace returned, till the citadel fell. She wondered if she’d ever sleep again. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, under a canvas roof or the stars, accompanied by a bedmate who crept in beside her too late or not at all, and left far too early. She’d hated that, at first, having her sleep disturbed. Now she wondered how she was to sleep without it, without _her_.

Her absence bled through the makeshift room like a hole in the fabric of the world, scarring deeper with the reminders of her scattered through the room. Her steel armour, too loud and too bright for a stealth mission, was still piled in the corner, awaiting her return. Her clothes too, lay where they’d fallen when she’d discarded them. All things she’d hated about sharing so small a space with another person. All things she might never stop missing. Strange, how a marriage of only a few months, spent in constant motion, could fill a space so with her presence. Could make the same space a gaping wound in her _absence._

Renée sat down on the pile of blankets that served as their- _her_ bed, wrapping one around her shoulders to stave off the cold. It wasn’t _fair._ She’d spent so little time in this bed, and yet it still held lingering traces of her scent.

“It should have been me.” She didn’t realise she’d spoken aloud, and almost started. “I should have gone. It’s not _fair_ that it was you. You were brave, and clever, and a _hero._ You should have lived.”

 _Life isn’t fair,_ she could almost hear Isabel reply.

“You should have gotten to go _home._ You’ve been gone for so long. You deserved a home and a life and a _family…_ ” She felt her voice crack into almost a sob. “I guess you’re back with them now. Your family. Fisher, Hui, Lambert. Fourier. I - I knew I couldn’t _replace_ her - replace _them_ \- but I wanted… I wanted to be your family. I wanted to have more _time_ to become a family.”

_Three hundred and eighty five years is plenty of time, princess._

The imagined nickname _did_ make her sob. “ _You deserved more._ You deserved… everything. You deserved nights you could sleep through and days in the sun and… so much more than I could give you. You deserved to come home at last. And I can’t even give you that _._ ” She wanted to kill Hera for taking that from her. In equal measure, she wanted to embrace the dragon and weep with her. But Hera was gone now too, as unreachable as Lovelace, and likely as uninterested in returning to  Minkowski. She was likely with her friends, her loved ones, with _Fourier_ rather than her useless replacement of a wife. In such a light, it was almost selfish to wish Isabel back to life, to _ache_ for her so.

And yet… “ _You promised you’d come back to me._ ” It wasn’t meant to be this way. Heroes didn’t just _die,_ not as hostages, not helpless. “You promised me.” _And I could have saved you. Should have saved you. How can I claim to have loved you at all when I didn’t save you?_ She buried her face in a pillow to muffle her sobs.  There hadn’t been _time_ to cry before, for her father, for her kingdom, for her _wife_. There wouldn’t be time later. But for now, she could weep, helpless and angry and grieving, until the message came that the walls had fallen. Until she had to be queen again, she could, for a moment, be Renée Minkowski, and let her heart break.

The call to arms came in the black hours before dawn, and she rose from dreams of golden ribbons and black hair and the sickening drop of the trapdoor, eyes swollen and heart sick, to arm herself. As she buckled her gorget and pulled on her gauntlets, she folded away her grief for later. It was time to take back her citadel. It was time to bring Isabel home.

*

Waking up had never felt so close to dying.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Friday people, Ada here, we loved the reaction to the last chapter (drama!!!) and hope you like chapter 15! I'm about to sit through what will likely be an incredibly awkward dinner party so, you know, do feel free to leave interesting comments that I can read surreptitiously under the table on my phone, love you all, also be excited for chapter 16 because it's super fun


	17. xvi: when the time for sleep is through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi honey, I'm home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Thus Always To Tyrants" by The Oh Hellos.

Jacobi still felt weak when he woke up, but it wasn’t the bone-deep exhaustion that had weighed on him before. He enjoyed the feeling of being curled up next to Eiffel for all of ten seconds before the memories hit him again; the gallows, the fire,  _ Maxwell, fuck. _ It was dark outside - pitch black, almost, save for the fire burning low in the room. He’d slept for hours. He wondered if anyone had come looking for them.

Eiffel half-woke, feeling him stir, and moved to draw him close again. “Go back to sleep, love. Nobody needs us right now.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” Jacobi murmured. “There’s a war going on.”

“Hush. It’s not your war right now. Rest, and we can worry about it in the morning.” He snuggled closer to the sorcerer’s side, retreating from the chilly night air.

“It’s everyone’s war,” Jacobi said, still a soldier at heart despite the last twenty-four hours. It bothered him that he hadn’t been summoned. If Kepler thought he was getting rid of him that easy… “I should get up and check what’s going on. You could be in danger.”

Eiffel laughed, “If I’m in danger, I’m safest with you right here. Who’s going to threaten me when you’re next to me?”

“Small, foolish people. Unless I’m all tapped out.” He felt like he was made of paper, but pulled away from Eiffel so he could check. A small flame sprung up in his palm, wavering but alight. “No. I’m good. Been better,” he admitted.

Eiffel begrudgingly opened his eyes properly and sat up. “I’m always up for a display of magic, but if you set my couch on fire, I will smother you myself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jacobi murmured. “Just checking I had any magic  _ left _ . Shouldn’t have bothered. It likes you, it wouldn’t miss a chance to show off.”

“Mm, your  _ magic  _ likes me? We can stick to that story, I guess, it works as well as any.” He stretched, mildly regretting the decision to sleep on the couch beside Jacobi rather than making him get into bed.

“It  _ does, _ ” Jacobi said. “It’s hard to explain if you don’t have any. It likes some people and not others.” He poked Eiffel gently with his elbow. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like you as well.” He lit the torches on the walls, illuminating the room. “I should really go and check what’s going on.”

“You should  _ really  _ get a full night’s sleep before you charge off to Rhea-knows-where. Relax, Lancelot, I’m sure the citadel will stand a little longer without you guarding it.”

“I won’t be long,” Jacobi promised, reluctantly extracting himself from the blanket and standing up. “I just want an update. I need to do  _ something,  _ I need to work…”  _ I need to keep busy. To not think about her.  _ He crossed the room and opened the door, startled to find a figure already standing there, hand raised. He blinked again, and realised it was the colonel.

“Were you… about to  _ knock? _ ” he asked, genuinely confused.

“ _ There  _ you are!” He dodged the question entirely, hand shifting to a beckoning gesture. “Come with me. It’s begun. They’ve breached the walls.”

“Why do you need me there when you surrender?”

Kepler folded his arms, eyebrows raised. “Where did you hear  _ anyone  _ say we’re surrendering?”

“What?” Still nonplussed, he continued. “Of  _ course  _ you’re surrendering. You’re not a  _ total  _ moron.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Sir Jacobi. Not that I  _ asked  _ for your opinion, but there’s no need to surrender just yet. Word is that the princess is leading the charge. If we want to stop it, the only person we  _ have  _ to defeat is her.”

Jacobi clenched his fist at the mention of the princess. As much as he would  _ love  _ to watch her burn to death… “There’s still too many of them. Sir, they’ll  _ kill  _ you.” He still cared.  _ Damn it. _

Kepler’s eyes were burning with a harsh light. “Not if you were with me. Together, we could take her down. Keep our citadel. Avenge Maxwell. You could watch her  _ burn  _ for what she did.”

“For what  _ you  _ did!”  _ For what we did.  _ He was mindful that Eiffel could hear every word they said.

Kepler scoffed. “Sure, let’s stand here and play the blame game to appease Prince Charming in there. You know as well as I do who  _ cut her throat, _ and it sure as hell wasn’t either of us. So come with me to avenge her, or hide here with your  _ coward _ . It’s your choice, Daniel.”

They locked eyes, and for a second, it was like the last few weeks had never happened. They knew each other inside out. Intimately, as no-one else could, and as Jacobi thought with cold pleasure of all the ways he could make Minkowski suffer he knew Kepler was the only person who could understand. For a moment he  _ wanted  _ it, badly, wanted the heat of battle and the satisfaction of revenge. To be at Kepler’s side again.

The last thing either of them anticipated was for  _ Eiffel  _ to shove his way between them. “ _ No. _ ” He glared at both of them. “I’ve put up with your sick little power games for this long, but no. You’re not dragging him into your bullshit ‘cycle of revenge’. This has gone on long enough. Fight my cousin, surrender to her, I don’t care what  _ you _ do. But don’t you  _ dare  _ try to manipulate  _ him  _ back into your little suicide pact. You’ve done enough to him already.”

“Eiffel…” Jacobi wrung his hands. What was he supposed to say?  _ Actually, I really want to kill your cousin? _

“No, you don’t get to argue with me about this. Apparently, if I leave this up to _either_ of you, we’ll all fight to the death for vengeance until the sun burns out and there’s not a soul left alive in the _world,_ let alone the kingdom! You want a blood-price from Minkowski for Maxwell’s death? Put it on my head if you have to, but _let this end._ Or all that will be left at the end of this is ash and bone and grief. There’s no _justice_ in that. No glory. Nothing you _really_ want.”

“I would  _ never  _ take her revenge on you,” Jacobi scowled, having apparently only paid attention to one part of Eiffel’s speech.

“Do you even  _ listen  _ to yourself? What about  _ my  _ revenge, once you kill her? Am I supposed to kill you both or die in the attempt? Or is it my job to dance to whatever  _ fucking  _ tune he decides to play next? How  _ exactly  _ do you want this to end? You two and Minkowski going out in a blaze of glory while I clean up your fucking mess? Because  _ that  _ sounds like a  _ spectacular  _ idea!”

“It may be hard for you to understand,” Kepler said smoothly, unruffled, while Jacobi stared at Eiffel, “as you have only  _ actually  _ known my people for a matter of months, but Maxwell was very important to us. To  _ Daniel.  _ Didn’t you two call each other brother and sister?” he asked, an insufferable smirk playing on his lips. He’d raised his eyebrow at Jacobi as Eiffel had started his panegyric on peace, enjoying watching his second-in-command squirm in second-hand-embarrassment. Neither of them had ever been very good at peace. “I won’t let your sister go unavenged.”

Jacobi frowned, and felt something  _ snap,  _ and suddenly he was - not free, not exactly, but his mind became clearer. “Wait, no. You  _ are  _ manipulating me. Don’t do that. You didn’t  _ care  _ about her.”

Kepler blinked. “Of course I-”

“Yeah? Tell me her middle name. Tell me what kind of tea she liked. Tell me the things that scared her. Or her favourite book, how about that?” Jacobi stared at him defiantly, arms crossed. “I’m waiting.”

The colonel, for once, seemed dumbstruck. “I-” He couldn’t seem to complete his sentence.

“Tell me about the  _ three  _ exchange offers  _ you  _ rejected. The ones that could have  _ saved  _ her,” Jacobi continued, eyes blazing. “How dare you? How dare you stand there and lie to  _ me,  _ after everything we’ve been through?”

“ _ Everything we’ve been through? _ You want to talk about  _ everything we’ve been through? _ I  _ made _ you. I gave you  _ everything- _ ”

Eiffel  _ shoved _ him, a move which would have been entirely ineffectual had Kepler expected any form of violence from him. “For  _ fuck’s  _ sake! Run off and fight or scheme or manipulate or whatever it is you do that isn’t  _ talk! _ But do it somewhere that  _ isn’t my doorway. _ ” He turned to Jacobi, “And  _ you. _ Stay with me, go with him, pick out your own path, but stop your  _ pointless fucking bickering _ .”

“Do you  _ want  _ me to stay?” Jacobi asked sullenly. “Because this -  _ this  _ is who I am. I can’t magically become a nice person overnight, that’s not how the world works. Also, my best friend just died _.  _ Sorry if I’m a little  _ dramatic _ .”

Eiffel clapped a hand over his eyes. “We are  _ not  _ having this discussion again right now.  _ I  _ am going to wait this out like a good little non-combatant.  _ You _ can come with me, or go and fight, I can’t make you pick. I’m not going to drag you kicking and screaming into being a good person, you need to start making that choice for  _ yourself,  _ not for whoever the man you’re with would prefer. But  _ you, _ ” He turned to Kepler, “ _ you  _ can fuck off and find something better to do in a  _ warzone  _ than play with  _ his  _ mind.” 

He stormed back into his quarters, and they heard the bedroom door slam.

“Warren,” Jacobi said, suddenly tired all over again.

Kepler stood back, arms folded. “You heard him, Daniel. Make your choice.”  _ Us or them. Him or me. Vengeance or… whatever he’s offering. _

He knew things had changed irreversibly between them when he reached out to take Kepler’s hand, and felt no compunction upon doing so. No worry that he was overstepping his place, or that he might offend his master. Just simple affection, and regret. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t die out there.”

Kepler drew his hand away, and left without another word.

*

The citadel’s streets were eerily empty. The citizens who hadn’t fled before the gates closed seemed to be hiding in their homes. Something about that should have tugged at Renée’s heart. She’d never imagined her return heralded by frightened people hiding in their homes. She’d wanted to return a hero, not a besieger. But so little of this war had been about what she’d wanted: what  _ anyone _ had wanted. Those who remained of the guards who’d followed Hilbert, then Kepler, had fallen back to the palace itself. She’d hoped against hope for a surrender, but no word had arrived, and now the palace was surrounded. She wanted to yell for Kepler to come out and face her, but what good would it do? If she wanted her home back, she’d have to take it by force - and by trickery.

The gates between palace and citadel were sealed against their entry. The gates between the citadel and the gardens were practically deserted, not enough ‘loyal’ soldiers left to guard them. And looking out onto the gardens were too many ground-level windows to guard every one of them. The shutters she hacked through led to a long-abandoned parlour that had once been her mother’s sitting room. It was oddly comforting to see it unchanged as she directed her men in through the window, then checked to see if the hallway outside was clear. It was empty, dark and quiet, but she could already hear running feet from the surrounding corridors. They knew -  _ Kepler _ knew - she was here already.

Renée had once imagined battle as important, exciting,  _ glorious.  _ Even if those imaginings had been tarnished by the campaign, she’d never pictured retaking her castle like  _ this _ : bloody combat in bottlenecked corridors, watching her soldiers fall back or stumble even as she cut through their attackers as though she’d been made for nothing else. Later, much later, she would feel like a monster for how little she’d cared _ ,  _ but in that moment, they hadn’t even been  _ human _ , nothing more than walking barriers between her and Kepler. Blood and bodies were strewn about the halls she’d called her home and still they kept coming, in twos and threes and fives. Men she should have recognised, men she had once  _ known,  _ reduced to nameless, faceless enemies, then to corpses littering the floor. And none of it mattered, because none of them were  _ him. _

The rest of the army had found other entrances, and the palace begin to fill with so many soldiers, allies and enemies alike, that it seemed close to overflowing. The sounds of fighting, the  _ stench  _ of death was everywhere, but no sign of Kepler, the sorcerer, or Eiffel. She hoped he was hiding somewhere they’d never find him. She  _ couldn’t  _ add him to the list of people she’d failed to save.

The Old Palace was the furthest from the gardens, and by the time she reached it she’d become separated from her personal guard. Perhaps that was fortunate -  _ nobody  _ knew this area of the palace as well as she did, aside from perhaps Lovelace, or Hilbert. She could tell from a creaking floorboard or a murmur of sound where the few patrols left were - and where they  _ weren’t.  _ And, inch by painful inch, she drew closer to Kepler. 

He was in the study that had once been her father’s - should now be hers - when she finally found him. He turned from the window and smiled as she entered, as if she’d been running late for a long-awaited meeting.

“Princess,” he greeted her. His sword was unsheathed, but held almost casually, as if he barely saw her as a threat at all. “How different you look from the last time we spoke.”

“You think so?” She circled him, sword raised and ready to parry his first strike. “War changes everyone.” Why wouldn’t he just  _ attack, _ rather than just standing there  _ smiling? _

“It’s treated you well.” She threw a sloppy attack at him, which he easily parried, still not striking back at her.

“Strange  _ you  _ should think so. You of all people-”  _ Now  _ he struck, forcing her to dance back rather than attempt to parry his strength with her own, “should know what it’s taken from me.”

“Please,” he laughed. “You should be  _ thanking  _ me for disposing of Hilbert.” She feinted, attempted to strike beneath his guard, and barely scratched his armour before he blocked her.

“Thank you for disposing of someone who betrayed you as easily as he did me? For murdering my father? For hanging my  _ wife  _ in front of me?” She risked a lunge too far forward, received a gash across her shoulder for her carelessness, and stumbled back. He was stronger, taller, and more experienced - she’d have to be faster and more careful, and she was already bleeding.

“Casualties of war, princess.” He wasn’t even out of breath. “You should have complied with us when you had the chance - then no-one would have had to die.”

She narrowed her eyes, and struck at his weaker right side, this time drawing blood, though he caught her across the ear with a gauntleted fist rather than his sword. It was worth it. “Nobody would have had to die if you’d just  _ stayed in the capital _ .” She danced back, dazed and breathless, but her blood  _ roared  _ in her veins. She’d hit him once. She could hit him again.

“You’re one to talk about death. You murdered a powerful sorcerer’s only family. And a friend of  _ mine _ . There’s blood on your hands too, little girl, so don’t act high and mighty with me.” He swung at her, forcing her back again. She was running out of space.

“Casualties of war,  _ colonel, _ ” she spat, striking at his legs in an attempt to force him back, to regain some ground. He stumbled, but regained his balance too quickly for her to make use of. “ _ Don’t  _ try to school me in lessons I learned because of  _ you _ . I’m no child, and you have  _ nothing  _ to teach me.”

“I wouldn’t waste my teaching on you.” He swung down at her head, a blow meant to be a killing strike, but she caught his blade with her own. He was stronger, though, and forced her almost to her knees before she could roll away and scramble to her feet. Now trapped against the wall, she had nowhere to retreat to as he approached. 

“As if you had  _ anything  _ to teach me! We were a  _ peaceful  _ kingdom before  _ you!” _ She swung at his throat desperately, only to have him catch her sword with his own and  _ twist _ \- she watched, horrified, as the blade span out of her hands, clattering on the floor. 

_ No.  _ She looked up at Kepler, his wolf’s smile wide and hungry, and raised her chin, defiant to the last.  _ Isabel, I’m sorry. _

And then the room imploded. The window shattered into a thousand shards and she threw up her arms to guard her face. She saw Kepler turn to the window, and scrabbled to regain her sword without taking her eyes off him. As she watched in amazement, a sweeping wing knocked him off his feet and to the floor, sprawled on his hands and knees.

Isabel Lovelace slid down from the dragon’s neck and pointed a sword at Kepler’s throat, before locking eyes with her wife and smiling. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

Her grasping hand found her sword’s hilt, and she scrambled to her feet and swung it hard, catching Kepler on the back of the head with the pommel. He crumpled to the ground. She barely looked down to check he was unconscious before sheathing her sword and stepping over him to fling herself into Isabel’s arms.

The first kiss was a messy collision of noses and lips and teeth. The second… 

“Miss me?” Isabel murmured, millimetres away from her lips.

She wrapped her arms around the taller woman’s neck. “ _ Never die on me again, _ ” she hissed, and dragged her down for another kiss. This one was perfect; soft and sweet and luxuriously long after the frantic movements of battle.

Isabel drew back and stroked a lock of Renée’s hair, pushing it back behind her ear. “I love you, by the way.”

She didn’t realise she’d been close to crying until the tears spilled over. “I  _ really  _ hope you’re here and I’m not dying right now. I love you. I’ve loved you ever since you climbed that tower. And if you’re really here, I’m  _ never  _ letting you go again.”

“She’s really here,” Hera interjected, picking at her claws in the background. “Wouldn’t shut up until I got her here  _ on time. _ ”

Renée attempted to look at Hera without letting go of Isabel, “ _ Hera?  _ You came back?” She’d never thought to see the dragon again. It was the least she’d deserved from her.

“Like hell I did,” Hera scoffed. “Just dropping  _ your  _ wife off. Don’t slit this one’s throat, okay?” 

“ _ Hera, _ ” Isabel warned.

“Hera, I’m - I’m sorry for what I did.” It was hard to think of  _ anything  _ with Isabel in front of her, real and warm and  _ living,  _ but Isabel was  _ here.  _ Alana would never be. “You deserved better.  _ She  _ deserved better.”

“Save it,” Hera said acidly, preparing to fly off. “I’m  _ not  _ ready to talk to you yet. Lovelace,” she acknowledged with a nod, before leaving the same way she came.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Isabel murmured, and then turned back to Renée. “She’ll cool down eventually. I’m pretty sure Maxwell’s story isn’t over yet, either.”

Renée smiled up at her, cheeks still tearstained. “You can explain  _ that  _ later. Kiss me, and then we’ll clean up our castle?”

Isabel didn’t need to be asked twice. The wreckage could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my beautiful Tuesday people! Lottie here! Hopefully you've forgiven us for the last two chapters after that little reunion (and Kepler getting the calling out he deserves). This chapter is _definitely_ my favourite, because I'm a sucker for a dramatic reunion and I knew we were going to have this scene ever since Into The Depths happened. Really excited to hear what you all think! Your reviews really make all the work we put into this fic worthwhile. We've finally reached the penultimate chapter, so tune in on Friday to find out what happens after the siege.


	18. xvii: exeunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it over? Did we win?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by "Exeunt", by The Oh Hello's.

It was the banging on the barred door that woke Eiffel from his stupor. He edged alongside the door, a heavy candlestick in hand.

“Who is it?” he called, warily. At his side, Jacobi gave an irritated gesture for him to move so he could get on with the business of _guarding_ him.

“Eiffel, I swear, if you don’t open up right now-”

He was already scrambling to open the door, despite Jacobi’s protestations, and the moment it moved Minkowski fell on his neck, squeezing him tight.

“I missed you too,” he choked, hugging back with everything he had. “Is it over? Did we win?”

“We won,” she told him, rocking them slightly without letting go, “We won, we’re home, you’re _safe._ ”

“Okay,” he said, wheezing slightly. “Air. Air is still a thing that’s important.”

She held him at arms’ length, looking him over worriedly. “You look _awful._ ”

“You look _great,_ ” he grinned. “The armour suits you.”

“Shut up, idiot,” she replied, returning his grin. “Being _alive_ suits you! I was so worried!”

“It suits most people,” Jacobi said darkly from the side of the room. He leaned casually against the wall; not confrontational, not yet.

Minkowski narrowed her eyes and looked between the two men, hand already grasping the hilt of her sword. “Eiffel, what is _Kepler’s sorcerer_ doing in your rooms?” _And why isn’t he trying to kill either of us?_

Eiffel looked _embarrassed,_ of all things, “Well, that’s kind of… a story, but he’s safe. He kept me safe.” It was an inadequate summary, but it was enough to relax her a little, although the man didn’t _look_ particularly safe. If anything, he looked distinctly murderous.

“Relatively safe,” Jacobi said slowly. “Depends who’s standing in between you and me, _princess_.”

Minkowski stepped back, dragging her cousin with her. “This had _better_ be a good story, Eiffel,” she muttered to him, then looked back at the sorcerer. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, trying to sound calm. “There’s been enough death today, and my cousin says you protected him. I can’t bring your friend back, but I can grant you safe passage if you leave my kingdom _now._ ”

Eiffel stared at her, “You’re _banishing_ him?” It made sense, of course it made sense, but… he’d never imagined it ending like this. “Renée, he’s been _protecting_ me-”

“Which is why I’m offering _banishment_ rather than execution. He was at the least an accomplice in the murder of my father, and mercy can only go so far.” She folded her arms, her face becoming a queen’s implacable mask.

Jacobi laughed at the idea of anyone leading him to a wooden gallows, but didn’t comment on it. He didn’t look at Eiffel as he processed her words, but locked eyes with the queen and thought of how dearly he’d love to burn her alive right then and there. “Safe passage for me _and_ Kepler,” he said finally. “Or I forge our path with fire.”

“Kepler has already been… _requested_ by the justices of the Empire. I can only promise his safe passage into their hands. You, on the other hand, I’ve received no such request about.”

Eiffel started: “In that case, _I’m_ requesting-”

Jacobi cut him off, waving his protestations away. “It’s fine, Eiffel. I can’t stay here.”

Minkowski inclined her head to him, “I’m glad we understand each other. I know how you must feel about me, and I can’t blame you, but-”

“Don’t think we _understand_ each other, princess,” Jacobi said, scowling. “You’re only alive right now because setting you on fire would upset _him._ So save your pretty speeches for someone who cares.”

She nodded, exchanging a wordless glance with Eiffel so familiar that it _hurt. What did you_ do _to him?_

“Travel safely, Sir Jacobi. I’ll… leave you to your goodbyes.” She hadn’t expected their reunion to be as bittersweet as her victory, she realised, as she closed the door behind her.

Before Eiffel could say anything Jacobi pulled him in for a long kiss that felt as sweet as it did final. “Stop trying to fight for me,” he murmured, holding his face with two hands. “I can’t stay.”

Eiffel glared at him, “After _everything_ he’s done, you’re leaving with _him?_ ”

Jacobi shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “I’m just leaving.”

The prince’s eyes closed, and he bit his lip. When he finally spoke, his voice was equally soft. “Stay. _Please._ ”

“I can’t live in her kingdom,” Jacobi said. “I could barely control myself just now. And _you_ can’t leave. So this is how it’s gotta be.”

Eiffel looked up at him then, dark eyes _aching_ with understanding. “I know. I know you can’t stay. And I can’t leave, not yet. But one day… I still have that castle in the mountains.”

Jacobi laughed despite himself. “One day,” he agreed. “But first I’ve gotta be on my own for a bit. You’re right, I can’t just follow whichever man’s with me that day. And I need to find Maxwell. Make sure she’s at peace.” His hands dropped to Eiffel’s hips. “Can I write to you?”

The prince met his eyes, halfway between laughter and tears. “You _better_ write, Lancelot. Tell me all about your quests and what life’s like as a knight-errant. Tell me everything.” _And one day, come back to me, and tell me everything again._

Jacobi kissed him one last time. “I’ll go now. Don’t watch. Go join the celebrations.” He turned before Eiffel could reply, and walked through the doors.

He caught Minkowski’s arm as he passed her standing guard. “ _Look after him,_ ” he hissed, before leaving the castle for good.

*

Renée had only managed to remove half the pins from her hair before collapsing on her dressing table. “Was your first coronation this _long?_ ” she groaned at her wife.

“Yes,” Isabel said. She walked over and started to remove the rest of Renée’s pins, massaging her sore head as she did so with gentle fingers. “But not half as fun.”

Renée looked up at her, wrinkling her nose. “You call _that_ fun?”

“Watching you navigate ornate dresses is always fun,” Isabel promised her, smirking. “The feast afterwards was good, you have to admit.”

“Feasts are the only reason to have parties,” Renée agreed. “Though I’m not hosting any more any time soon just so you can watch me _suffer._ ”

Isabel leaned down to deposit a handful of pins on the dressing table, ghosting her lips across the back of Renée’s neck as she did so. “Not even if I ask _really_ nicely?”

She couldn’t help but tilt her head back in anticipation of a kiss. “Depends how _nicely_ you ask me, darling.”

Isabel chuckled. “If you don’t like your dresses, my dear,” she murmured, “I’ll gladly help you get out of them.”

Renée smirked, “Who am I to refuse such an offer?” There was a _very_ pleasant pause, until she spoke again, almost too quickly to think: “Do you mind it? Sharing the throne with me? Sharing the kingdom?”

“Definitely not,” Isabel promised. “You’re so much better at this whole… _diplomacy_ and _etiquette_ thing. I’ll just stand behind you looking scary.”

“You _are_ very good at that.” Another pause, then: “And you don’t… mind that it’s me doing that? I know that you probably wish it was her, but-”

Isabel wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Her? Who?”

Renée frowned, turning to look at Isabel properly rather than her reflection. “ _Victoire._ I mean, half the histories say you were lovers…” The histories she’d _enjoyed_ , anyway.

“They say _what?”_ She brought a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh, as Renée looked so genuinely in earnest. “Honey… Victoire was like a sister to me. An annoying little sister. Who was desperately and _monogamously_ in love with Hui. You really...” She couldn’t even picture it. Victoire had been beautiful, but… “No. Definitely not.”

Renée blinked, then burst out laughing. “ _Really?_ I’ve been fretting about _nothing?_ ” She managed to barely get her laughter under control to speak again, “I guess that’s what I get for reading too many books and not asking enough questions.”

“Hui’s going to be so mad that his ridiculous attempts at flirting were written out of history. Gods, you’re hilarious.” She leaned down to kiss her again. “We had a wedding, a joint coronation, and a _very_ exciting reunion night… What will it take for you to believe I’m here for _you?_ ”

Renée looked at her, wide-eyed and trying to suppress a smirk. “You could always tell me again?”

Isabel rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and in one fluid movement, bent down and picked up her wife bridal-style, grinning at the happy shriek of surprise Renee let out. “Get ready for a _long_ explanation, darling.”

*

The coronation celebrations in the city continued late into the night. It made sense - they’d had precious little to celebrate in the past few months - but Eiffel had never felt less like joining the party. Not that he wasn’t _happy_ to see Minkowski on the throne she’d worked so hard for, to see her reunited with the wife she adored, but… the war had changed him. The war had changed _everything._

It was still difficult to walk around the palace as though he was _allowed_ to be there, let alone the rest of the city. He kept to his rooms now. The rest of the world still all too often felt like enemy territory, and it was hard to overcome the constant sensation of being _watched._ The worst part was that he almost _missed_ it. There had been cages and rules and claustrophobia in imprisonment, but he’d grown used to it, to its games and boundaries. Now, there was nothing except the gnawing sensation of _absence._ Absence of purpose, absence of fear, absence of _him._ He’d never meant to miss Jacobi. He’d never meant to care at all.

With a sigh, he closed the book he was reading with a snap, knowing he’d never be able to concentrate on the words that night. (He’d distinctly avoided any books with tales of Lancelot inside, but even so.) It was late, and he was still catching up on sleep missed from his nights in the cells. He hadn’t had time to get used to anything other than sleeping alone, but the memory of those few nights still haunted him and he kept waking up expecting to see red hair on the pillow opposite.

Eiffel got up and wandered over to the windowsill, dropping the book on a stack nearby. Absent-minded, he drew the curtains and blew out the candle. Then he stopped, and stared.

The candle had burned out _hours_ ago, and yet a small, golden light still illuminated the room.

_fin_

 

epilogue  
(a silent peace in the tragedies)

_Eiffel,_

_You’d be surprised how quickly you can become “that crazy man who’s looking for a dragon”. I swear, half the villages I arrive at recognise me on sight now. I’m getting a very strange reputation. No sign of Hera yet. Of either of them. How does something that big hide so well?_

_Sorry about the handwriting. You know, I haven’t written a letter in years? Never needed to before. Only ever really talked to Kepler and Maxwell, and they were always with me. You can hate them both all you want, but… family’s family. The road’s a little lonely out here now. I haven’t travelled alone in years. Maybe I’ll even fall in with some fellow sorcerers, who knows? Brave new world out there. No Goddard men looking over my shoulder. Lots of time to get into trouble. I’ll try and do something appropriately ‘Lancelot’ for you to read about, Elaine. (I can read fairytales too, you know.)_

_I hope this actually gets to you, and isn’t lost on the way to the castle. Or sabotaged. I know you probably can’t reply but I thought I should let you know; still alive, still searching. Still missing you._

_You don’t have to reply. You can forget all about ~~me~~ this if you want. I wouldn’t blame you._

_Sorry,_

_Daniel_

_*_

_Daniel,_

_I’ve had some practice at writing letters in the past few months. Wrote a bunch of encouraging notes for my cousin every time I thought I was about to get executed. I should probably get round to burning them before she finds them. Good practice for this, right?_

_I’ve had a lot of time to think about loneliness, too. Not that ~~Minkowski~~ my cousin gives me much to get weepy over. She thinks I’ve been on my own too much this year, and she’s probably right. I just wish there were more options for company than our royal lovebirds. I didn’t think sharing a palace with newlyweds could be that bad, but apparently the universe  loves to prove me wrong. _

_Also, Elaine? Really? I feel like I deserve better than that. We can’t all be sorcerer-knights with ‘dangerous reputations’, but give me a little more credit than ‘damsel in distress’._

_Still, I guess your reputation makes life easier for whatever messenger I send to find you. Someone ought to be keeping track of crazy people looking for dragons in this kingdom, if only to stop Hera stealing them again. If you see her… tell her to write? I never thought I’d be asking a sorcerer to take a message to a dragon for me, but I guess that’s what my life is like now. _

_Whenever you get this, I want you to know; still breathing, still waiting, still missing you too._

_Eiffel_

*

_~~Colonel,~~ _

_~~Kepler,~~ _

_~~Sir,~~ _

_~~Warren,~~ _

_Colonel,_

_Got out safe. No plans to come back to the capital. If Cutter sends people after me, I’ll turn them to ash._

_Look after yourself._

_Jacobi_

*

_Eiffel,_

_You have some very dedicated messengers._

_Sure. If I actually find this stupid lizard, I’ll tell her to write. Least she can do. Thanks for replying, by the way. My faith in the postal service is restored. Also, get out of the palace, you whiner! Make some new friends. Go see your daughter. Stop intentionally making yourself miserable, idiot. I have to travel alone, but you sure as hell don’t._

_I wrote to Kepler and never got a reply, so either he’s dead or Goddard doesn’t care about getting me back to work for them. Kind of a relief. Can’t inspire ballads for you to listen to if I’m stuck in the capital again. Still reading fairytales? I should have got you to read me some. I have no idea what I’m doing out here._

_I’m telling you right now, we’re not signing off every letter with “still missing you”. We’re not those people._

_I miss you, though._

_Daniel_

*

_Jacobi,_

_Come back immediately. He’s unbearable without you._

_Rachel_

*

_Rachel,_

_Have fun!_

_Jacobi_

*

_Daniel,_

_My messengers are the best messengers! The queens have decided that I need to do something productive with my time, and apparently ‘something productive’ means running royal communications rather than sitting around doing nothing. So thanks for the compliment to my postal service. I guess communications are my forte, not that anyone who witnessed what happened this spring would agree on that._

_ When _ _you actually find Hera, I wouldn’t advise calling her a ‘stupid lizard’. One thing she and my cousin have in common is a tendency to take the phrase ‘bite your head off’ literally._

_For your information, I get out of the palace plenty with my new job, and Anne’s on her way back to the citadel as we speak. So you don’t need to worry about me being stuck in my room ~~waiting for you.~~ I have a lot to keep me busy. And you have no right to call me out on ‘making myself intentionally miserable’, Sir ‘I have to travel alone’ Jacobi. I have too many people worrying about me here as it is. Let me worry about someone else for a change. _

_~~I’m not ending another letter with I miss you. Even though it’s true.~~ _

_Not to be sentimental, but I still miss you too, if only because you’re still fun when you’re fretting over something. The royal lovebirds really aren’t. Well, my cousin isn’t, and Lovelace sides with her, spoilsport that she is. Our glorious monarchs really need to develop a sense of humour now we aren’t at war any more._

_Come back soon. I’m bored._

_Eiffel_

 

*

_Eiffel,_

_Glad to hear you’re getting Anne back. You deserve that. A proper family._

_No luck on the dragon search yet, sorry to report. Maxwell’s being a pain even in death. Shouldn’t be surprised. Right now I’m heading towards a cluster of islands because some local saw something that was probably just a large bird fly over them, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m starting to enjoy this ‘knight-errant’ life, you know? Maybe some of those books you read were onto something. Having a royal seal definitely helps with the locals - they don’t have to know what it’s really attached to. I don’t want them to find out that the - what did you write about me? - that the ‘scary dangerous fire sorcerer’ is carrying around love letters._

_I hear good things about the kingdom being put back to rights. Couple of ballads still being sung about “The Wedding of Minkowski and Lovelace”. Nearly punched a guy in a tavern who suggested you might be next. If I come back to find you’ve married some stupid princess, I’m going to burn your palace down again. That’s not an empty threat. I still want to find Maxwell and I’m not going to stop until I do, but it’s a lot of walking and asking questions instead of fighting and burning things. And you think you’re bored._

_I’ll write when I’m on solid land again. Still missing you, as always. (I guess we are those people.) Wait for me._

_Daniel_

_*_

_Daniel,_

_At this rate, I’m going to have more family than I know what to do with. Who would have thought a cousin and cousin-in-law could be so interfering? You’d think they’d have better things to do in their first year of marriage than bother me about getting out more. It’s not like either of them are social butterflies, but they’re worried about me missing parties? I am this close to finding Minkowski’s old poetry books and giving them something more interesting to do with their time._

_Speaking of ballads, Minkowski hates the songs about her wedding, so naturally Lovelace and I have been bribing the bards to play them to her more often. We’ll see how long it takes her to work it out. It’ll hopefully keep me entertained till I get to hear some ballads about you. I don’t think you’ll be hearing any more about my wedding to some stupid princess (or prince. ~~Or fire-sorcerer.~~ ) any time soon, so I think the palace is safe (from you) for now. Maybe not from me if I get bored enough. _

_Nice to know you’re using your skills that don’t involve arson, murder, and other things that would draw the queens’ attention to the fact you’re ignoring their order of exile. I should probably work on literacy rates in the kingdom if people really aren’t reading that thing. Then again, if nobody in this kingdom can read, nobody can find out about these important, top secret documents (that are not love letters)._

_Write me soon. If you die in a shipwreck after all this, I’ll find you, bring you back however Rhea managed with Lovelace, and kill you again myself._

_I’ll wait for you as long as you need me to. ~~The only way you can stop me is by coming back.~~ I’m still missing you._

_Eiffel_

*

_Doug,_

_Alana’s on an accursed fae island. Alive and healthy and completely insufferable. I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so happy to see her. She told me to “go find that boy you’re in love with,” and besides, I hate the ocean._

_This is a love letter, idiot, and so are the others. I love you._

_Still got that castle in the mountains?_

_Daniel_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to thank the Academy, our friends and family, the Wolf 359 team...
> 
> In all seriousness, a big thank you to everyone who's commented, left kudos, and generally kept us going over the last nine weeks. We've loved every second of writing and publishing this story. But don't worry, it's not over yet! There are at least two (somewhat shorter) fics left in the SESD universe that we'll upload some day soon. In the meantime, you know where to find us if you have questions. This has been Lottie (goldtreesilvertree, lottiesnotebook) and Ada (mothwrites, captainlovelxce), and we'll see you soon.


End file.
